Opposites Attract
by DinosaursgoRawr101
Summary: Adrien Agreste is hopelessly in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He may be rich but he can't sing a tune to save his life. That doesn't stop him from trying though.
1. Chapter 1

**Something a little different. This time, it's ADRIEN who is madly in love with Marinette and not vice-versa. In this story, they haven't met before and are both meeting the first time in college.**

Adrien Agreste glanced up from the dog-eared copy of Othello, leaning back in his chair at the large oak table in the center of the library and tossed his glasses down on the inked-over pages of his notes. `Why I agreed to take a stupid literature class when I'm studying to design cars is beyond me,' he grumbled, rather proud that his already sound grasp of the foreign language was getting better and better every day.

He sighed. He knew why. Natalie had suggested it. She'd maintained that the lit class would help him get a better grasp on English—not that he had that bad of one, to start with. He had relatives who lived in the States, an aunt and might-as-well-be aunt who were native English-speakers, as well. No, Natalie had insisted that Adrien spoke the `bastardized' version of English, and that was why he'd agreed to take the god-forsaken class. `Someone,' he thought darkly, letting the book fall onto the table, `ought to tell her that more people speak bastard than they do Ye Olde English . . .'

Drumming his nails on the thickly varnished oak table, he shifted to the side, drawing his feet up and dropping them on the chair beside him, ankles crossed, rereading the same paragraph about ten times before giving up with a pronounced snort. Dropping Othello onto the table, Adrien glanced around, pasting on a lopsided grin as he caught the disapproving look he garnered from the old librarian sitting behind a desk where she peered through the holographic computer screen to pin him with her eagle-eyed stare. Intercepting his grin, the librarian narrowed her eyes in silent warning, and Adrien heaved another sigh before digging his laptop computer out of his knapsack.

"Excuse me."

Adrien glanced up and blinked as his eyes locked with the deep bluebell gaze of the girl who was standing beside the table. Untangling his legs, he slowly stood, offering the girl a slightly hesitant smile and a polite bow. She tucked a strand of blackish blue hair behind her ear and cleared her throat, hugging a stack of books against her chest as her cheeks pinked, hiding the dusting of soft freckles that spanned the bridge of her nose. "No, please . . . excuse me," he insisted as his brain slowed to a crawl.

"That book," she said, her voice soft, smooth. "Are you using it?"

Adrien shook his head without bothering to look at the book in question. "No, no . . . help yourself."

She nodded brusquely, pausing long enough to retrieve the book before casting him a tepid little smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he assured her. She started to turn away. Adrien's hand shot out, catching her arm to stop her. "I'm Adrien . . . err, well, Adrien Agreste, I suppose . . ."

She shook her head and scowled. "French?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Thank you, Adrien Agreste," she allowed, breaking into a real, if not small, smile.

He grinned back, bemused, and she pulled her arm away before turning to leave once more.

"Wait," he called after her, earning himself another formidable glower from the librarian. He ignored the look as the girl stopped but didn't glance back at him. "What's your name?"

"Why do you need my name?" she countered.

He shrugged. "Let me guess . . . your name's Angel because you had to have descended from heaven."

She rolled her eyes but her smile didn't disappear. "No."

"Bunny?" he tried again.

"Bunny?" she echoed, shaking her head since she didn't quite understand his ratAlyale.

His grin took a turn toward the cheesier side of things. "Yes, Bunny—because you've hopped right into my heart."

She wrinkled her nose but her eyes sparkled. "Oh, that one's bad," she informed him as her smile widened the tiniest bit.

"I could go on," he offered.

"Keep them to yourself, please."

Adrien grinned. "Then tell me your name?"

She didn't look like she was going to tell him. Biting her lip, she glanced around as though trying to decide whether or not she was being watched. "Marinette," she finally said.

He grinned. "Marinette? That's pretty . . . I like it."

She didn't answer, but she did giggle softly as she headed for the checkout station with the pile of books.

Adrien hurriedly shoved his things into his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder as he strode after Marinette. He stood back to wait while she checked out the books. She blinked in surprise when she turned around, only to come face to face with him once more. Reaching over, he carefully took the stack from her, and while she looked like she might protest his unnecessary assistance, she didn't voice her objections as he led the way out of the library and onto the sidewalk.

"I can carry those, myself," she pointed out reasonably, tilting her head to avoid the wind that blew her hair into her face.

"That's okay," he assured her. "I was just heading that way."

Marinette frowned and shook her head. "What way?"

He chuckled softly. "Whatever way you're going."

She blinked as though she were trying to decide if he really was being serious or not. In the end, she choked out a little giggle as she brushed her hair back out of her eyes again. "Oh, my God . . . that was one of the worst pick-up lines I've ever heard."

Adrien chuckled and fell into step beside Marinette. "I've got more."

"I'm sure you do."

He wasn't daunted. "You want to go out sometime?"

"Nope."

"Your parents told you not to talk to strangers?"

"Nope."

"You already have a boyfriend, Marinette?"

"Nope."

"Then it's just me?"

"Yes."

"Careful . . . you're crushing my heart."

She laughed then smashed the back of her hand over her mouth as though she hadn't wanted to give in to her amusement. "I'm sorry, Adrien Agreste. I'm busy."

He heaved a melodramatic sigh then darted off to the left, carefully plucking a late summer flower from a carefully-kempt garden. "Here," he said, jogging backward in front of her as he extended the blossom.

"You shouldn't be stealing people's flowers," she admonished.

"Yeah, I know. I was improvising."

She pursed her lips in an attempt to keep from smiling. "No, thank you."

"But I stole it for you!" he insisted. "You have to take it."

"Why's that?"

"I committed a felony, just for you: flower theft—grand floral larceny . . . the petals made me do it."

Again, she rolled her eyes, but she reached out and took the flower, bringing it to her nose and breathing deeply before handing it back. "I'd rather not be an accomplice, thank you."

"Do you have a surname, Marinette the Beautiful?"

She leveled a no-nonsense look at him. "Do you say that to every girl you meet?"

Adrien shook his head and grinned. "No . . . in fact, I've never actually said that to anyone else, ever."

"Really."

He winced at the apparent disbelief in her tone. "Really . . . absolutely."

She stopped, and so did he. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cocked an eyebrow and slowly shook her head. "I'm not interested, Adrien Agreste. If you'll return my books . . ."

He sighed then nodded though his smile didn't fade completely. Opening the first book in the pile—Twenty-First Century Sculpture: A History—he carefully slipped the stem of the flower between the pages and closed the book again. "I'll give back your books if you tell me your last name, Marinette," he offered.

Marinette stared at him, and for a moment, he honestly had to wonder if she was going to kick him in the shin or worse. She sighed, too, and shook her head, unable to mask the hint of amusement in the depths of her bluebell gaze. "Dupain-Cheng," she said, holding out her hand. "Now can I have my books back?"

Adrien handed them over, smiling to himself when she didn't try to give the flower back. Holding the stack of books against her chest, she shot him one last glance before turning on her heel and sauntering away. He watched her disappear into Feighleigh Hall—an all-girls' freshman dorm—as a slow grin widened on his face.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," he murmured.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets after readjusting the knapsack he had carelessly slung over his shoulder, Adrien shuffled back along the path, retracing his steps as he headed home. He didn't notice the first droplets of rain that splashed down on him. No, there wasn't room for anything else in his mind aside from the flashing bluebell eyes; the brilliant smile of Marinette Dupain-Cheng . . .

* * *

Marinette dropped the stack of books onto her desk and slowly shook her head, a soft giggle escaping her as she stared at the flower sticking out of the book.

`Adrien Agreste . . .'

She knew that name—Agreste. Who didn't? The famous model with the even more famous fashion designer of a Dad?

Carefully extricating the flower from the book, Marinette brought it to her nose and inhaled the fragrance of the bloom.

`_He's cute, isn't he?'_

Marinette sighed, tilting her head to the side as she stared at the flower, as she carefully traced the delicate edges of the outer petals. "Cute . . ."

Somehow, `cute' didn't seem to accurately describe the man, did it? No . . . `cute' was definitely an understatement. There was something about his eyes—so warm, so friendly—that made her want to forget all about every single thing, and how could that possibly be? She'd talked to him for maybe half an hour, if that, and he'd been nothing but an outrageous flirt.

Adrien Agreste . . .'

The beautiful peach dahlia drew her attention once more as her smile faded. No, it just wasn't a good idea. Better to push all thoughts of Adrien Agreste from her mind wasn't it? Better not to think about him . . . wasn't it?

"I thought you were going to the library."

Blinking away the remnants of her silent musings, Marinette glanced over her shoulder in time to see her roommate, Alya as the latter stretched out in her wooden desk chair, hiking her foot up onto the desk and leaning forward as she shook a bottle of bright pink nail polish.

"I just needed to get a book," Marinette replied, twirling the flower in her nimble fingers.

Alya flipped a long strand of reddish brown hair out of her face and stopped short, narrowing her gaze on the flower in Marinette's hand. "Interesting . . . where did that come from, may I ask?"

Keeping her eyes fixed on the delicate petals, Marinette willed herself not to blush. Alya didn't miss much. It might have had something to do with Alya's uncanny ability to sniff out any story. She was a journalist, after all. . . "Someone," she replied as her smile returned.

"Someone?" Alya echoed. "And does this someone have a name?"

"He . . . probably does," she said, carefully keeping her tone of voice level—careful not to let any emotion slip.

Alya wasn't ready to leave it alone, though. "Someone gives you a flower and doesn't tell you his name? I'm not buying"

"Maybe you're not," Marinette went on, dropping the flower on her desk with a shrug. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm here to study; not to spend all my time dating odd men who steal flowers out of perfect strangers' gardens."

"Wow, you're a tough one, Marinette," Alya went on with a sad shake of her head. "Dating a guy doesn't have to take center-stage. Look at you! You're nineteen years old, and you still haven't been on a single date, ever! It's just wrong, I'm telling you."

Marinette grabbed the book she'd checked out of the library and flopped down on her twin sized dorm room bed. "It wouldn't be a good idea," she mumbled under her breath as she opened the publication, wishing that Alya would figure out that Marinette just didn't want to talk about this.

"Why is that?"

Marinette heaved a sigh and snapped the book closed before slowly shifting her gaze to her lifelong friend's familiar face. "It just wouldn't," she insisted.

Alya swung her foot off the desk and stood up, wandering over to perch on the edge of Marinette's bed. "What aren't you telling me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" she demanded.

Marinette drew a deep breath and let it out in a heavy rush before pushing the book away and sitting up, hooking her hands around her ankles and resting her chin on her raised knees. The sun was just starting to set outside, and she watched as the orange rays streamed through the window—odd for this time of year and proof that it didn't always rain.

He smiled so easily, didn't he? He smiled, and he made her want to smile, too . . .

There was some intangible quality that he possessed; something that made her wish that things weren't quite so complicated. She had responsibilities, after all, and those responsibilities . . .

She sighed. Those responsibilities didn't include a shockingly handsome Adrien Agreste, and it didn't include his smiles . . . or his ill-gotten flowers . . .

"Do you have a surname, Marinette the Beautiful?" His voice had been soft and tinged with a husky sort of quality that brushed over her skin much like a physical caress. The results had been devastating, weakening her knees as well as her resolve as she'd struggled to hold onto a modicum of her composure.

"Do you say that to every girl you meet?" she'd asked, inflicting enough boredom into her tone to make her appear to be more nonchalant than she was actually feeling.

Adrien shook his head and grinned—a dangerous grin: a grin that could easily melt her heart and make her forget about every single thing in the world so long as he was smiling at her. "No . . . in fact, I've never actually said that to anyone else, ever."

"Yoo-hoo . . . earth to Marinette . . . come in, Marinette . . ."

Shaking off her silent musings, Marinette pushed Alya's hand away from her face with a giggle. "Stop that," she chided.

"Tell me what you were thinking about?"

"Not a thing," she lied.

"So what's really bothering you about this guy?" Alya asked, staring at her nails as she carefully filed down the tips.

"Nothing," Marinette maintained stubbornly.

"Don't give me that. I know better."

She sighed. She never had been able to put anything over on Alya after all. "It just wouldn't work; that's all," she insisted as she rolled off the bed and headed toward the bathroom to take a shower.

"Marinette . . ."

Stopping on the threshold with her hand poised over the light switch, she felt her shoulders slump as a sense of resignation seeped over her. Some things, she decided, were doomed before they could even begin. Any kind of relationship with Adrien Agreste? That was simply one of those things, wasn't it? She knew that, certainly. She knew it as well as she knew her own name.

"Marinette?" Alya repeated softly.

Marinette turned her head but didn't dare look at her friend. "He's Adrien Agreste," she admitted.

Then she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**And we're back! I was really surprised that so many people liked this story but then again, the fandom is MUCH bigger than most of the ones that I love. **

_**Italics are used to show her thought process (and Adrien's as well)**_

"Aww, he's out there again . . ."

Marinette heaved a sigh and smashed her hands over her ears in a vain effort to ignore the ungodly sound of the off-key singing that was blowing in the window along with the frigid winter afternoon wind. "Close that window, will you?" she said, raising her voice to be heard over the rising din. "It's freezing, if you didn't notice, and you're encouraging him!"

Alya rolled her eyes and stuck out her bottom lip in a thoughtful moue. "Of course I'm encouraging him . . . he looks absolutely miserable . . . come see for yourself if you don't believe me . . ."

Marinette didn't deign to respond to that. Heaving a sigh as she tried to pay attention to the book she was reading for one of her classes, she shook her head and wondered just how long he'd stand out there, singing and strumming his ridiculous ukulele before he gave up for the night.

One would have thought that'd he would have given up that particular line of pursuit over three years ago after the first time he'd tried it. All he'd succeeded in doing back then was irritating everyone else who lived in the dormitory to the point that they were throwing things at him. She supposed it was her fault that he kept it up. After seeing the numerous stuffed animals and other assorted things that were raining down on the poor man, she'd agreed to accept the flower that he'd offered her that had initiated the debacle though she had declined his offer to take her on a date.

_`You have to give him credit for his `never say die' attitude,'_

She grimaced. `He needs to give up,' she told herself sternly, refreshing her grip on the pen in her hand that she'd been using to take notes before the ruckus had started outside. It'd be simpler to ignore if Alya would stop opening the window whenever he started singing—which he always did whenever she refused to take the daily flower that he invariably offered her. A different flower every day—at least, a different color if he couldn't find a completely different kind. She'd often wondered if he kept a calendar with the flower types and colors listed on them so that he didn't repeat himself, though there were three separate occasions that she could name when he'd broken the rule. She'd made the mistake of pointing that out to him a few months ago on that crisp September afternoon when he'd presented her the peach dahlia for the third time along with his prerequisite invitation to take her to the movies or whatever the offer of the day happened to be.

"Running out of flowers, are you?" she'd asked coolly, her gaze flicking over his handsome countenance.

Adrien grinned unrepentantly and shook his head. "Nope. This one's special."

"Special?"

He nodded. "It's our three year anniversary of the day we first met. It's only fitting that I give you the same kind of flower, don't you think . . .?"

Proving, of course, that there really was a method to Adrien Agreste's madness . . .

"Oh . . . looks like they've gotten out the eggs . . ." Alya said with a wince. "Poor guy . . ."

Slamming her book closed, Marinette stood up with a swish of her heather brown skirt and crossed her arms over her chest as she grudgingly made her way to the open window. Grimacing when she saw that the other tenants in the quaint apartment building really were throwing eggs at the pathetic-looking hanyou who was still singing his lungs out on the square of yard below, she sighed. "Adrien! Stop that!" she hissed, grasping the window sill and leaning outside.

Adrien stopped long enough to retrieve the wine colored rose off the packed snow. "Will you take the flower?" he called up.

"No!"

He sighed and shook his head, carefully setting the flower back on the ground before strumming a few off-key notes on the ukulele once more. "`You are my sunshi-i-ine, my only sunshi-i-ine . . . You make me happy-y-y when skies are gr-e-e-ey . . .'" he sang.

Someone yelled something that Marinette couldn't rightly discern seconds before another egg came crashing down from one of the apartments above. Adrien neatly sidestepped the obstacle and kept singing. "Adrien!" Marinette hissed a little louder. "Stop!"

"`You'll never know, de-e-ar—will you take my flo-ower and go on a date with me toda-a-ay . . .?'"

Gritting her teeth, Marinette growled in irritation at the stubborn man who just didn't know when to quit.

"Just take the blessed flower, Dupain-Cheng!" someone hollered. "I've got tests tomorrow . . ."

"Yeah," someone else agreed. "Put him out of our misery!"

A chorus of agreement ensued, and Marinette heaved a sigh.

"If you don't want to accept the flower from him, maybe you should just accept it for the good of the other residents," Alya pointed out reasonably despite the marked twitching of her lips.

Marinette heaved a sigh, rubbing her forehead with a tired hand. "All right!" she called down. "Fine . . . you win, you stubborn man!"

Adrien's grin was instant and brilliant. Without a second thought, he dropped the ukulele and retrieved the rose, clamping the stem between his teeth before grasping the ivy covered trellis affixed to the building beside Marinette's window and starting to climb.

"Here," he said, grabbing the flower and holding onto the window sill with one hand. "Does that mean—?"

"No," Marinette stated flatly. "No date; just the flower." She hurried to take said-flower and slowly shook her head. "Be careful!" she fretted. He slipped but managed to catch himself before he took the two story plunge to the ground below the window. She reacted before she could stop and think about it, grasping at him before he fell.

He chuckled and hauled himself up enough to peer into the room. "Hello, Alya. How are you this evening?"

Alya giggled. "Hi, Adrien. Fine as ever."

"You look lovely."

"You look absolutely miserable," she remarked with a smile at the casual conversational tone he was using despite his precarious position, hanging from the window sill.

"Nah," he drawled with a lazy grin. "I'm just . . . hanging around."

Alya laughed. "I see . . . just don't fall, okay?"

He grinned. "Don't worry; I won't . . . So Marinette . . . do you want your Valentine's Day gift early?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the little smile that graced her lips. "It's not Valentine's Day yet."

He shrugged. "That's okay . . . I want you to have it early."

"You mean you're not going to the Valentine's Day festival tomorrow?" she couldn't help asking.

"Well . . . probably not . . . I mean, if some other woman pulled my name out of the hat, then I'd feel like I was cheating on you, right?"

Cheeks pinking, she snapped her mouth closed on the retort that had been forming. "We're not together, so it wouldn't be cheating."

He grinned. "Face it, Marinette. We're meant to be."

"You gave me the flower; now get out of here, will you?"

He chuckled. "Will you take your present?"

Rolling her eyes and stifling the desire to growl in abject irritation at his tenacity since she knew—just knew—that he wasn't about to give up, she sighed instead. "Fine."

Leaning to the side, he hung onto the windowsill with one hand while digging into the inside pocket of his leather jacket with his free hand.

Marinette winced and gripped his arm to steady him. He shot her a cheesy grin as he carefully extricated a small flat box and held it out to her.

She stared at it for a long moment before slowly reaching out to take it.

"W-whoa . . . whoa!" he exclaimed suddenly, flailing his arm and trying to keep from falling. Marinette gasped and dropped the box to grab him, pulling him back toward the window once more. He laughed, and she narrowed her gaze. "Aw, Marinette . . . I didn't know you cared."

"You did that on purpose!" she gasped.

He laughed again. "No . . . well, maybe . . ."

"You jerk!" she growled, smacking his arm. "I thought you were really going to fall!"

His laughter escalated, and she heaved a sigh. "Were you worried about me, Marinette?"

She narrowed her gaze and resisted the nearly overwhelming desire to shove the hanyou out of her window. "No, I don't think I was."

"Ah, well . . . how about a Valentine's kiss for me?"

"How about not."

He heaved a sigh but looked anything but contrite. "Can't blame a guy for trying, now can you?"

Reaching up, she braced her hands on the bottom of the window, the threat obvious. With a hearty laugh, he hauled himself up to kiss her cheek before letting himself drop back to the ground below. "Adrien!" she hollered, poking her head out the window before she could stop herself.

He landed on his feet and stood up slowly, turning and looking up to wave at her before gathering his ukulele and loping off into the night.

"I think he's trying to kill me," Marinette grumbled as she slammed the window closed and snapped the latch into place.

"I think he's sweeter than sugar," Alya contradicted, rubbing her arms as she adjusted the thermostat to warm the apartment up quicker. "So what did he give you this year?"

Marinette wrinkled her nose as she stared at the carefully wrapped package. Silver foil paper festooned with deep red and pink hearts shone in the weak light of the lamp beside the sofa, and she bit her lip, trying to decide whether or not to open it.

"Well, it's too small to be another stuffed cat," Alya remarked, peering over Marinette's shoulder with a soft giggle.

Marinette tried not to smile at the reminder of the present Adrien had bought her last year—a huge white stuffed cat that was currently sitting in her bedroom—not that she'd ever admit as much to him, of course.

"Sure, but what do you think it is?"

Alya tapped a delicate claw against her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm . . . too big to be jewelry . . . too flat to be a flower . . ."

Casting her friend a sidelong glance, Marinette slipped her claw under the configuration of ribbons that were tied around the flat box and slit them. They fell away onto the floor. Tearing off the paper, she couldn't help the little giggle that escaped as she stared at the small box of gourmet chocolates—her favorites. How had he known . . .?

`You ready to admit that he isn't as bad as you want to make him out to be?'

Marinette frowned at the teasing in her friend's voice, and she abruptly handed the box to Alya. "Here," she said, shoving the chocolates into Alya's hands. "I'm on a diet."

"A diet?" Alya echoed with an arched eyebrow. "Really . . ."

"Yes," Marinette stated flatly. "Now I have to finish that report."

Alya's laughter trailed after Marinette as she grabbed her book off the sofa and stomped off toward her room.

_`You gave away your Valentine's Day present?'_

Scowling as she sank down on the edge of her bed and kicked off her shoes, Marinette pursed her lips and tried to ignore the stinging reprieve in her inner voice.

_`Three years, Marinette . . . that's a long time for him to be hung up on you when you won't even give the poor guy so much as a second of your precious time.'_

Opening her book, she shook her head and tried to focus on the words printed on the pages.

_`You can try to ignore me if you'd like, but you know I'll just keep talking . . .'_

With a heavy sigh, Marinette slammed the book closed and tossed it aside before flopping back and dragging a pillow over to cover her face—and hopefully drown out the ever-increasingly annoying voice of herself.

_`La la la . . . I'll leave you alone if you'll just admit that you really don't dislike Adrien Agreste.'_

`Okay!' she relented with an accompanying snort. `I don't dislike Adrien Agreste . . . I just don't like him, either.'

`_Are you sure about that? He's awfully cute . . .'_

Wrinkling her nose, she rolled her eyes. Leave it to her conscience to point out something as entirely irrelevant as Adrien Agreste's agreeable cuteness.

The soft knock on the door sounded just before Alya poked her head inside. Lowering the pillow in time to see the strange expression on Alya's face, like she had just discovered something that could change the world, Marinette narrowed her eyes on her best friend. It was the kind of expression that Marinette didn't trust; not at all. "Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?" she asked.

Alya shook her head and walked into the room, perching on the edge of the bed beside Marinette with an entirely amused glint in her shining brown eyes. "Remember that concert you wanted to go to but couldn't get tickets to?"

Marinette snorted, sitting up and making a face at the reminder. She'd tried to get tickets for the much-anticipated show, but it had sold out in record time, much to her irritation. She'd fumed about that for nearly a week afterward. Who would have thought that it would have sold out in a matter of hours? "Yeah . . . what about it?"

Alya's grin widened, and she handed Marinette a plain white envelope. "This was in your box of chocolates, Marinette."

She reached out slowly, unsure whether or not she really ought to take the envelope. Alya's grin widened, and she rolled her eyes. "It's not going to bite you," she chided.

Marinette wasn't so sure. It wasn't sealed closed, and she bit her lip as she hesitantly pulled the folded paper out, along with two VIP tickets: box seats and backstage passes to meet the members of Trinity, the hottest band in Great Britain. "Oh . . ."

"What does the letter say?"

Casting Alya a suspicious glance, Marinette shook her head and set the tickets aside. "Did you read it already?"

Alya snorted. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't make a habit of reading other people's love letters," she pointed out. "Anyway, yes, I saw the tickets, but no, I didn't read the letter."

Marinette drew a deep breath and unfolded the slip of paper.

:Marinette drew a deep breath and unfolded the slip of paper.

:

`_My dearest Marinette,_

_`I heard from a little birdie that you really wanted to go to see this show, and while I know it isn't really a great Valentine's Day gift, I hope you'll forgive me and enjoy yourself. Take Alya or someone, and have a good time._

_`Happy Valentine's Day to the light of my life._

_`With all my affection,_

_`Adrien.'_

:

"That jerk," she mumbled, gripping her forehead in her hands, crumpling the letter against her temple.

"What? Does he want you to meet him there or something?"

She shook her head, foisting the letter into Alya's hands. "Worse."

Alya spared a moment to stare at Marinette before uncrumpling the note and reading it through. "Wow . . . he really is an ass, isn't he?" she deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow at Marinette.

That earned her a deep scowl as Marinette shook her head and sighed. "Don't you see? He's trying to guilt me! How fair is that, I ask you?"

"Or maybe he really does want you to go and have fun at the concert."

Marinette shook her head. "But how did he get those tickets? They're box seats . . . with backstage passes, no less!"

"Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth . . . but you know, you could see if he wanted to go with you, if that'd soothe your soul."

Flopping back against her pillows once more, Marinette frowned at the ceiling. "Maybe I will," she allowed grudgingly. "Maybe . . ."

Adrien pulled the cottage door closed and rattled the handle to check the lock. Satisfied that the place was secure—then again, who would really want to rip off a college student?—he grabbed the handle on the suitcase and headed for his car, staring at the pristine white Narcissus in his other hand. He had to drop this off before he left, but that shouldn't take too long, providing Marinette accepted it . . .

_`Traveling on Valentine's Day,_' he thought with a shake of his head. `This sucks . . .'

Heaving as sigh as he held out the keychain to release the trunk, he was settling the suitcase into the back and mumbling under his breath about transcontinental flights when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Where are you going?"

It took a moment for him to recognize the voice, mostly because it was one that never actually sought him out. Slowly turning his head, as though he was afraid that she was just a figment of his imagination, Adrien broke into a hesitant smile as his gaze lit on Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Standing just behind him with her hands clasped in front of her, she was scowling just a little as the crisp February air whipped her hair into her eyes.

"Got to go to home for a few weeks," he informed her. "Family thing."

"Oh?"

He nodded, closing the trunk of the car before turning around and leaning against it. "Yep . . ." He grimaced. "Here."

Staring at the flower in his hand, she almost broke into a smile as she hesitantly reached for the blossom—almost. "So you weren't trying to make me feel guilty about going to that concert without you?" she ventured as she lifted the flower to her nose.

Adrien blinked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "No . . . why would I do that?"

She nodded slowly as, her nose buried in the bloom. "Oh, I don't know . . . most guys would, I should think . . ."

"Maybe . . . but I'm not most guys."

Marinette wrinkled her nose and snorted indelicately. "You're up to something; I know it."

Shaking his head as he raised his hands in an innocent gesture, he grinned unrepentantly. "I'm not; I swear it. I just want you to have fun."

That answer didn't seem to please her, either, and she uttered a low growl under her breath. "I don't trust you, Adrien Agreste."

"You should," he countered lightly, letting his hands rest on either side of him, drumming his nails against the trunk of the car. "It's not good when you don't trust your future mate."

"My future . . . what?" she blurted, cheeks pinking as Adrien's grin widened.

"Your future mate," he stated once more. "I'm telling you, Marinette . . . we're meant to be."

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest and tried for an aloof stance that was completely undermined by the tingeing of pink that deepened on her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she mumbled haughtily.

He chuckled. "It's okay, Marinette . . . one day you'll admit it. I can wait."

Slowly she shifted her gaze to meet his and sighed. "You just don't know when to give up, do you?"

Pushing himself away from the car, he ambled over to her, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans as he tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "When it comes to you? I'll never give up."

"Maybe you should," she murmured, silver gaze wide as she stared up at him.

To her surprise, he nodded slowly then heaved a sigh. "Maybe . . . but I don't want to."

"Are you always this persistent?"

"Only when it comes to you."

She shook her head and stepped back as though she needed to distance herself from him—maybe she did. "It'd never work, you know," she said softly. "It wouldn't . . ."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

She shrugged. "Don't I?"

Heaving a sigh, Adrien nodded. "All the more reason for me to convince you," he told her. "We'd be great together. You'll see."

She looked vaguely amused for a moment before she shook her self, digging into her purse and pulling the tickets out. "Here," she said, smacking his chest with the flimsy bits of paper.

He shook his head and gently pushed her hand back. "Nope . . . these are for you. I'm serious. Take someone with you, and enjoy yourself." He grinned. "I hate to rush off like this, but I'll miss my plane if I don't get moving."

She nodded and watched him as he strode over to his car once more. "Coffee," she blurted as he reached for the handle.

He stopped and peered back over his shoulder at her. "Come again?"

Fighting back the furious blush that rose to stain her cheeks, Marinette hooked a lock of black hair behind her ear and hurried forward. "Give me your cell," she demanded, looking completely consternated and yet wholly adorable.

Adrien raised an eyebrow but did as she commanded, digging his cell phone out of his pocket and handing it to her.

Casting him a narrow-eyed stare, she quickly programmed in her phone number and thrust his phone into his hand. "Call me . . . when you get back," she said, her expression a mix of belligerence and irritation. "Just coffee, though—not a date."

Very slowly, Adrien broke into a grin—small at first but brightening fast as he finally threw his head back and laughed. "You can count on it, Marinette," he said as he wound down to soft chuckles.

Marinette let out a deep breath, peering up at him through the thick fringe of smoky eyelashes. "Why do I know I'm going to regret giving you my number?" she muttered.

Adrien grinned. "You won't regret it, Marinette . . . I promise."

She rolled her eyes but stepped back as Adrien got into his car and started the engine. Rolling down the window and sticking his arm out in a jaunty wave, he pulled away from the curve, beeping the horn as she watched him adjust the side panel mirror his gaze meeting hers just for an instant.

"You won't regret it, Marinette . . . I promise," his voice echoed in her head as Marinette watched the car disappear around the corner.

Biting her lip as she tapped the tickets on the palm of her hand, she sighed and turned around, heading back toward the university and the class she was going to be late for. Flakes of snow fell around her, and she stopped, tilting her head back to watch the fluffy bits float to the earth. Smiling green eyes danced before her, and she shook her head, trying in vain to force the image from her mind; the silvery hair . . . those startling eyes that she'd never, ever forget.

She wouldn't regret it? She grimaced.

Maybe that was what she was ultimately afraid of . . .


	3. Chapter 3

**And we're back! I've been stuck in bed due to a fibro flare so I've been able to get more out of these. Let me know what you think! Reviews are like candy and I have a sweet tooth!**

Adrien stepped outside the cottage he had built and ran down the step onto the sidewalk, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he headed toward the University of Paris campus.

`Another year . . .' he mused.

_`Another year,'_ the voice inside his head echoed. _`Another year of chasing the dream when she's made it abundantly clear that she just doesn't want . . . you.'_

Grimacing at the naked truth in that statement, Adrien kept walking. `. . . Ouch . . .'

_`Yeah, well . . . just remember: I warned you . . .'_

`Sure you did,' he grumbled, as he jammed his hand deeper into his pocket and walked a little faster. `Whose side are you on?'

_`Yours, of course. I just figure one of us has to be realistic . . . after all, you're too busy dreaming to listen to much of anything these days.'_

`She's coming around,' he shot back, determination lighting his gaze as he strode onward. `It's just taking awhile. `Good things come to those who wait,' or haven't you heard?'

_`Yeah, there's that . . . there's something else you haven't thought about, isn't there?'_

`Hmm, what?'

_`It's your fourth year, and hers, too. Last chance, Adrien, and if you don't get her convinced this year, then you've lost.'_

He sighed, ears flattening as the truth sank in. `Look on the bright side,' he persisted. `She never changed her cell number . . .'

That earned him a longsuffering sigh, but it was true. As much as Marinette complained and chastised him, she also hadn't changed her cell number, and he'd spent the summer sending her pictures—a different one every day—of various flowers he saw during his holiday in Japan. Opting to spend the time away from school visiting with his Father and Natalie back in Japan, he had made a point every day of seeking out a special flower to photograph and send to Marinette.

`Big deal! Just because she didn't change her number doesn't mean she isn't laughing her ass off at the idiot guy who can't get it through his fat fucking head that he's being a fool . . . that'd be you, by the way . . .'

`Aww, shuddup,' Adrien grumped, scowling at the ground as he slowed his pace near the campus.

He'd come back early in the hopes that he'd see Marinette at registration or at least around. After all, she still owed him a cup of coffee . . .

`That should tell you something, Adrien . . . she backed out of that, didn't she?'

Adrien sighed, digging some money out of his pocket as he stopped long enough to select the flower of the day. He wasn't sure if Marinette was around yet or not, but he'd rather be left toting the flower around than to find Marinette and not have one in-hand.

"Ah, Adrien! Glad I am to see you back this year!" Nessa Dreyfuss said with a smile as she handed him his change. The middle aged woman patted his hand conspiratorially and laughed. "You'll get Marinette this year, mark me!"

Adrien grinned. "I hope so," he replied lightly. "Thank you!"

She waved as he strolled away, heading toward the student building, slowly glancing around, scanning the meandering students for one face in particular.

_`It's somewhat sad when the woman at the flower shop knows your name,_' his inner voice pointed out.

`So? I know her name, too.'

_`Also sad.'_

`And Nessa knows Marinette's name.'

_`I rest my case.'_

`Stop being pessimistic, can't you? You're supposed to be on my side.'

_`I am. It's just . . . it's been nearly four years, you know?'_

Adrien grimaced. `I know.'

_`You remember when you were in the eighth grade and you had that huge crush on the American exchange student? What was her name again?'_

`Jacqueline? Now that name brings back memories . . .'

_`Yeah, well, you were convinced she was your mate, too.'_

Adrien stopped abruptly as some rowdy guys came tearing out of one of the dormitories, almost mowing him down. "Sorry!" one of them hollered over his shoulder as he loped away.

`That was just a stupid crush,' Adrien went on as he nodded at the young man and kept walking.

_`Stupid or not, it was the same idea. You convinced yourself that Jacqueline was your mate when, in actuality, she wasn't.'_

`That's like comparing apples and oranges,' Adrien protested, reshouldering his backpack. `Marinette is my mate. I know it. I can feel it. It's just a matter of time before she realizes that she can't possibly live without me any more than I can live without her.'

His conscience heaved a dramatic sigh.

"Adrien!"

Swinging around at the sound of his name, Adrien smiled, recognizing a familiar face though not the one he'd been searching for. She waved and hurried toward him. Adrien moved out of the middle of the path, waiting for the girl to catch up with him. Her name was Chloe, and she was in a couple of his classes last year. They grew up together in France and while rough around the egdes, Adrien knew Chloe actually did have a nice side to her.

"Hi," she greeted, her eyes shining bright as her smile widened just before her countenance crumpled in a marked grimace and she scooted out of the way of some students who looked like they were just going to run right over the diminutive female. "It's mad today!"

Adrien chuckled. "Yeah, it is . . . how was your holiday?"

She shrugged. "So-so . . . didn't do much." With a soft giggle, she shook her head. "Every year when I go home, it seems as though the town is getting smaller . . . I wonder why that is?"

"Is it?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"No . . . I actually think it's growing. Maybe it's just because my perception of it is changing . . ."

Nodding slowly, Adrien scratched his chin, mulling over her words. "I suppose so. The first time I left home, I sort of thought the same way—and France. . . well, it's huge."

"I did go to Seoul, South Korea for a couple of weeks," Chloe went on. "Talk about culture shock . . ."

"Oh, yeah? I've been there once."

Shifting her book bag in a decidedly nervous fashion, Chloe shuffled her feet and scrunched up her shoulders, face contorting in an expression of absolute concentration as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. Her cheeks reddened, but she smiled hesitantly as she hooked a lock of pale blonde hair behind her ear. "So, Adrikins . . . would you like to go for dinner sometime?"

"Dinner?" he repeated, eyebrows shooting up to disappear under his blonde bangs in surprise. "Oh . . . well . . . I, uh . . ."

Cheeks blossoming in embarrassed color, Chloe bit her lip and quickly shook her head. "Never mind . . . that was . . . I mean—"

"No, no!" Adrien cut in with a marked grimace. "It's not . . . I don't . . ." He sighed. "I'm . . . sorry . . ."

"Don't be!" she exclaimed, waving her hand dismissively. Her tone was overly bright, as though she was trying to overcompensate for the discomfort her offer had brought on. "I just thought . . . You know, I . . . um . . . I've got to go . . . I wanted to locate all my buildings so I'm not wandering around like a fool when classes start."

He winced as she started to back away. "Chloe . . ."

"Hmm?"

"Dinner would be nice," he told her. "I mean, we're friends, right?"

"O-okay," she agreed quickly, a hesitant little smile finally replacing the look of acute embarrassment.

He rubbed his temple as he pondered his schedule. "Tomorrow night? I've got to finish unpacking and all that, so . . . We could go to a pub or something?"

Chloe nodded as the color receded from her flushed cheeks, as her smile slowly returned to what it should have been. "Yeah . . . I'd like that."

"Give me a call."

She spared a minute to smile broadly before turning on her heel and walking away.

Adrien watched her go with a sigh. Chloe was a pretty girl, and he'd known somewhere in the back of his mind that she'd had a crush on him for the last couple of years. They'd worked together a few times, doing group projects for their classes, and he liked her well enough. He just wasn't interested in more than friendship with her. Chloe had known that Adrien had spent the last nearly four years hung up on Marinette.

Still, he couldn't help but feel a little awkward about the entire affair . . .

With a long, slow sigh, Adrien's gaze dropped to the perfect blossom in his hand, and he frowned as he brought it up to inspect it. `_This year, Marinette,_' he vowed. _`You've got to listen to me . . ._'

Stepping into the ambient lighting of the local pub near campus, Marinette carefully shrugged her shoulders to shake off her date's possessive arm. Paul Gregory didn't seem to notice her reluctance, though, which wasn't really surprising. In the course of the last couple of months since she'd started seeing Paul, she'd figured out quickly enough that he never really seemed to notice anything about her, especially things that she didn't particularly care for . . .

She should be grateful, she supposed with a dour scowl. Paul was certainly quite the catch, or so People magazine would lead one to believe. Touted as one of the world's ten most eligible bachelors, he was the son of one of the wealthiest men in the world . . .

_`Look on the bright side, Marinette . . . He's tall, good-looking, smart . . . his family's wealthy so you wouldn't ever have to worry about money . . . he's perfect . . . just perfect . . .'_ Her conscience trailed off with a sigh. _`Too bad we can't stand him . . .'_

Marinette snorted inwardly though she managed to keep her expression completely blanked. `You forgot arrogant, condescending, domineering . . . I'd rather die a thousand times than be with him . . .'

_`You're just sore because you haven't gotten to see someone else since you got back to Paris.'_

Cheeks pinking, Marinette lifted her chin a notch and squared her shoulders stubbornly. `I have no idea who you're talking about,' she insisted.

`_Pish and paw, Miss Marinette . . . you know bloody well who I'm talking about . . . and you've been looking for him, too; don't deny it. You missed him. I know you did. That's okay, though. I missed him, too . . . Look on the bright side . . . at least Paul doesn't live in Paris. . .'_

Marinette sighed. As far as she was concerned, that was the only `bright side' to any of it. Paul's family resided in Switzerland, and he'd only come to Paris to date her, as far as she knew. He'd announced that he had to leave in the morning, and Marinette had nearly cried in relief. The arrogant man had offered her a completely self-serving grin along with a consoling pat on the rear meant to comfort her, she supposed . . . `_Paul's leaving in a couple of days . . . thank God . . . and as for `him'? Please! I'm not worried about him, and I certainly don't miss him . . .'_ Trailing off with a slight scowl, Marinette shook her head and added almost absently, _`Maybe he hasn't arrived yet. He probably won't be back until the weekend.'_

_`He's a far sight better than Paul . . . even if Adrien sings off-key, at least he knows the things you like and don't like.'_

`It's not that . . . you know why I can't even consider dating Adrien Agreste . . .'

_`Right, right . . . because of Aislynn . . . I get it . . .'_

Marinette licked her lips and grimaced. `Aislynn . . .' The simple sound of her baby sister's name made her smile despite her otherwise bleak thoughts. Born in the beginning of March earlier in the year, the nearly six month-old infant was the bright spot in Marinette's life. It filled her with a sense of peace and a wealth of happiness whenever she spent time with Aislynn, and she had to admit that the calm she felt was enough to convince her that what she was doing was ultimately the best thing for everyone involved.

Adrien's father, Gabriel Agreste was a man to be reckoned with. He was adamant that his son date, and marry, into a wealthy class. Marinette knew he wouldn't be forgiving if she acted against his wishes, no matter what she might feel for the blonde. Three years ago, Gabriel recognized his son's attraction to Marinette and threatened to cut off everything for the Dupain-Cheng's. She was on scholarship at college and her parents couldn't afford to keep them both in it. He threatened even Aislynn's future and she had barely started her life.

Even then, it was all too easy to remember her own childhood whenever she looked at Aislynn. She recalled the loneliness she'd felt, isolated from everyone else on the estate. She never really had any friends since there were no other children around, and when she first went to school, the barrage of children her own age frightened her horribly. It had taken a long time before Marinette was able to come out of her shell, so to speak, and her first real friend was Alya . . .

_`What the mighty Gabriel Agreste doesn't know won't hurt him, you know?'_

`Now you sound like Alya,' Marinette grumbled since the conversation was starting to sound exactly like the one she'd had with her longtime roommate while she was getting ready for her date with Paul.

_`Good, because she tends to be more level-headed than you are.'_

Marinette didn't respond to that. True enough, Alya didn't like Paul, either—also not surprising since Paul wasn't pleased with any female who dared to speak her mind. They'd gotten into an argument earlier over the dress Marinette had chosen to wear. Paul hadn't liked the plain cotton dress, citing that it was too short and showed much too much of Marinette's legs. Alya had rolled her eyes and said that it was fine, lovely in fact and that Paul should keep his mouth closed since he wasn't the one wearing the dress in question. Paul had told Alya to mind her own business, and it had gotten uglier from there, to the point that Marinette had wrapped an arm over her stomach, resting her elbow in her hand at her side and curling a finger over her lips as she slowly shook her head and leaned against the bedroom door frame until the argument had subsided.

She sighed. That wasn't quite fair, really. Paul wasn't that bad. In fact, he had a few redeeming qualities. The truth was, though, that Marinette . . . well, she just wasn't interested.

Her father had chosen Paul for her. He'd summoned her into his study at the start of the summer holiday in order to tell her that he'd taken the liberty of `arranging' things with Paul and his father. Since she hadn't found anyone she wanted to consider as a potential husband, he'd decided that he needed to intervene.

Paul slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer than she was comfortable with as he led the way to a table near the front of the establishment, his intense brown eyes shifting over the restaurant as though he were looking for someone in particular. "Is everything all right?" she asked, breaking the stony silence that seemed to accompany every excursion they shared.

Casting her a cursory glance and an arrogant half smile, Paul cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said in a tone that never failed to make Marinette feel as though she were butting into his business even if all she'd done was ask a completely innocent question. "I'll be back," he assured her before swaggering away, heading in the direction of the bar near the front of the pub.

Stifling a sigh as she made a mental list of things she'd rather be doing—things such as watching grass grow, watching paint dry, sitting in the middle of the desert with no water and no shade—Marinette dug her cell phone out of her purse and checked her messages. Lips twitching as she caught sight of one number in particular that she'd hoped to see, she spared a glance to see where Paul was before scrolling through the text messages to locate the email—and the attached picture.

The delicate white blossom looked so pristine against a blurry green background—grass, she supposed. Adrien was getting better at taking the pictures . . .

Of course, he'd gotten in plenty of practice over the summer, and she . . .

She sighed. She didn't want to think about how he made her feel . . .

_`He hasn't missed a day, has he?'_

Marinette bit her lip as her smile faded. Gaze flitting over the proud, strong back of her date who was busy leering at a couple of girls near the bar, she turned her face away before darker thoughts interrupted her idyll.

The doors of the pub opened once more, and Marinette glanced up only to do a double take when Adrien Agreste held the door open for a petite blonde woman. He didn't see Marinette right away, and she grimaced when he smiled at the girl with him, a foreign surge of something dark flooded through her body. He slipped his hand under the girl's elbow—Chloe, Marinette thought her name was—which was completely understandable since more college students filed in after them, jostling them forward, right past Marinette's table.

They sat at a table not far away—a small table meant for two. Marinette scowled at the couple as Chloe leaned over the table to say something, and Adrien laughed. It was that smile that she'd always thought was just for her, after all, and that didn't sit right.

_`You're jealous!'_ her conscience crooned.

Feeling her cheeks explode in a hot wash of indignant color, Marinette sputtered. `I . . . I'm not! Of course, I'm not! Why in the world would I be . . .? That's . . . that's . . . that's . . . no-o-o-o!'

_`Yes, you are . . . it's okay . . . I rather want to go rake that girl's eyes out, myself . . .'_

Gritting her teeth since that was exactly what she did want to do, Marinette gripped the edge of the table and dug her nails in deep, unaware of the territorial little growl that erupted deep in her throat as she watched Chloe lean in a little closer to say something else that made Adrien laugh.

"Here," Paul said, breaking through her irritated thoughts as he set a foaming glass of seltzer water before her.

She blinked and slowly shifted her gaze to the glass. "I'd rather have ale," she murmured, pushing the glass away.

"It's unbecoming for a woman to drink," Paul maintained, flicking his wrist in a completely dismissive gesture.

Marinette stifled a sigh and got to her feet, brushing past Paul. He caught her arm. "Where are you going?" he drawled.

Marinette carefully pulled her arm away, pasting on a tolerant little smile—the most she could muster. "I just wanted to play some music on the jukebox," she replied.

Paul didn't look pleased but he finally nodded. "I'll order for you," he said.

Weaving her way through the crowd as she assured herself that she was absolutely not simply trying to get within earshot to hear just what Chloe kept saying to make Adrien laugh, she wrinkled her nose and leaned in to stare at the digital selection on the huge machine. Built to look like the jukeboxes of long ago, she knew very well that it was all for show since the actual units could be purchased in very small sizes. Still, it added a certain ambiance to the place, and she almost smiled as she considered how much she liked the old-fashioned feel of the pub. Flipping through the pages and pages of digital music files, she dropped a handful of coins into the machine and bit her lip thoughtfully.

"So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Adrien quipped, leaning on the glass beside her with a lazy grin as he inclined his head to the side and twitched his ears.

Marinette didn't move but did steal a glance out of the corner of her eye. "Where's your girlfriend?" she asked, grimacing inwardly and praying that her question hadn't sounded as catty as she was afraid it had.

He chuckled. "Chloe? She's not my girlfriend. You're the only woman for me, you know. It's just dinner with a friend," he assured her.

She snorted, punching in the number of her first selection. "I don't care, mind," she went on haughtily. "Why would I care if you're on a date, friendly or otherwise? I don't!" Pausing, she couldn't help the little snort that escaped her as she shot the girl in question a fulminating glower. ". . . Are you sleeping with her?"

Adrien's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he looked suspiciously close to laughing outright. "Jealous, Marinette?" he teased.

She opened her mouth to snap at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. "I know; I know: of course you're not. Why would you be, right? Still, for not being jealous, you sound awfully irritated . . . Did you miss me over your holiday?"

She finally turned her head to face him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "How could I miss you? You were spamming my cell with pictures of arbitrary flowers every day!"

He did grin, the ass. "Did you like them?"

Rolling her eyes, Marinette almost smiled—almost. "I think you need a hobby," she grumbled.

"You're my hobby," he quipped. "My favorite way to spend my free time . . ."

"Your lines really need work," she said with a shake of her head.

"I learned a few more songs, too."

"Oh, God . . ."

"Want to hear them?"

"No."

He sighed melodramatically then shrugged, obviously undaunted. "Will you go out with me yet?"

"No."

"You'll have fun, I promise."

"No."

"You still owe me coffee," he pointed out.

She spared a moment to pin him with a sidelong glance. "I was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

He chuckled. "As if! How's your sister, by the way?"

Marinette finally smiled. "She's fine . . ."

Adrien's smile suddenly disappeared, and he stood up straight, staring over her head with a marked scowl. Moments later, Marinette felt the unmistakable and uncomfortable warmth of an unwelcome arm slip around her waist, drawing her back against Paul's chest. "Who's your friend?" he asked, his condescending tone leaving little to the imagination as to what, exactly, he thought of Adrien.

"Adrien Agreste," Adrien supplied, his eyes taking on a darker glimmer.

"Agreste . . . Gabriel's son?" A sudden and thoroughly mocking smirk surfaced on Paul's face as he tightened his arm around Marinette's waist. "Ah, yes, I remember. You were the model who didn't have it in him to continue."

Adrien's gaze narrowed the tiniest bit, and Marinette glanced up at Paul with a shake of her head. "Adrien's not a model anymore," she blurted quickly, cheeks pinking as the implications of her words sank in. She sounded much too well-acquainted with him, didn't she? She bit her lip, hoping that Paul wouldn't notice.

Paul shot her a calculating glance before lifting his gaze back to Adrien once more. "Sounds like you know all about him," he said stiffly. "Do you, Marinette?"

"Modeling just wasn't my thing," Adrien said as the tension thickened in the air.

"Wasn't it? You certainly couldn't have been afraid, could you? The great fashion designer's son, afraid of modeling?" Paul goaded.

Marinette blanched, knowing very well that Paul hadn't missed the possessive sound of her voice at all. Paul stared at Adrien for another long second before turning away, propelling Marinette back toward their table without a word.

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Adrien watching them go. Hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched tightly, his ears twitched in a completely irritating way, and when she met his unreadable gaze, she grimaced when he quickly turned away.

"You made your point, Paul," she bit out, shrugging off his arm and quickening her pace to distance herself from the irritating man.

"Now, Marinette, don't be angry," he chided, catching her around the waist and pulling her back against his body once more, his tone placating, as though he were trying to console a small child despite the sharpness of his constricted voice.

"Let go of me," she hissed, pulling against his hold to no avail.

His fingers tightened around her, and he leaned down to whisper, "Don't make a scene, Marinette. It's unbecoming, you know."

"You don't own me," she ground out, fighting to ignore the bitter wash of anger that frothed and seethed inside her.

Paul's lips curled back in a completely arrogant mock-smile. "Ah, but I do. It's as good as done, remember?" he stated impatiently. "By your father's word, you're mine, and you will not embarrass me. Do I make myself clear?"

Restraining the desire to grind the heel of her shoe into his foot, she cleared her throat and jerked her head once in a curt nod.

"Good," he intoned, his hand sliding up, his fingertips nestled just below the swell of her breast. "Now let's have a nice dinner, shall we?"

"Get your hands off her."

Marinette gasped as Paul stood up straight, craning his neck as he glanced over his shoulder. Marinette struggled to look at Adrien, too but grimaced when Paul's arms tightened once more. "Adrien . . ." she whispered.

"Why don't you run along?" Paul drawled, cocking an eyebrow as his eyes took on a derisive glint.

"Take your fucking hands off her," Adrien stated once more. People sitting at the nearby tables fell silent, staring at them with a marked sense of curiosity. "Now."

Paul chuckled, tossing a discerning eye around the crowded pub. The hush rippled over the gathering, smothered by the tension that spun out of control, radiated off the two men standing near the table by the front of the establishment. "Mind your own business," Paul replied nastily, slowly turning around and allowing Marinette to get a better look at Adrien's face in the process. His expression was blank enough despite the tell-tale shimmer in his eyes: a cold glimmer of something far more dangerous than she'd ever seen in him before.

Marinette glanced around, unable to stop herself, hoping that no one actually understood the implications of Paul's insult. They didn't seem to understand, and for that small thing, Marinette was grateful.

"Adrien? Maybe we should go," Chloe said, tugging on Adrien's arm as she stole a worried peek at Paul.

Marinette winced. She understood what Chloe was implying without having to state it more plainly. Adrien was strong, certainly, and yes, he was well-enough defined, but he was also nearly half a foot shorter than Paul, and Paul possessed far more bulk than Adrien did. All things weighed equally, she couldn't really see how Adrien was being anything but valiantly stupid . . .

"I think she asked you to let go of her," Adrien pointed out calmly. She didn't miss the angry intonation in his voice despite the stoic quality of his expression.

"It's fine, Adrien," Marinette said, lowering her voice as she shook her head furiously.

"You heard her," Paul said with a derisive sneer. "It's fine."

"Get your hands off her," Adrien stated once more.

"And again, I'll say it's none of your business," Paul insisted.

Marinette jerked away from Paul, stumbling forward. Adrien caught her and pushed her behind him. "I don't think she wants you after all," he goaded.

Paul's deep brown eyes darkened even more. "Marinette," he barked. "Get over here."

She started to skirt around Adrien. He caught her hand and pulled her back. Meeting his gaze, she bit her lip when he shook his head. "Adrien . . . he's my . . . my . . ."

"I'm her fiancé," he supplied with a mocking grin. "Now if you'll be decent enough to let go of her, you can let go of my fiancée."

"You're lying," Adrien ground out.

He smiled disingenuously. "Ask her, yourself."

"M-Marinette?" he said, slowly turning to look at her. "Is this true?"

Marinette grimaced at the look in Adrien's eyes, as though she'd somehow betrayed him. `Of course I haven't,' she assured herself quickly. `We . . . there never has been anything between us . . . there never could be . . .'

"Marinette?" he said again.

"Not . . . exactly . . ." she mumbled. "Not officially . . ."

"Incidentals," Paul interrupted, reaching around Adrien to grab Marinette's arm and drag her back over to his side. "You're the one, aren't you? The one who's been mooning after Marinette for the last four years." He laughed, shaking his head and making no bones about his belief that Adrien was a fool. "Too bad she'd never have one such as you."

"I want to go," Marinette said, trying futilely to stave off the altercation she could feel brewing. Turning toward Paul, she planted her hands against his chest and pushed him back. "Please . . ."

Sparing Adrien a completely insincere smile, Paul caught Marinette's wrists and chuckled. She saw his intentions writ in his eyes just before it happened. He dragged her close, smashed his mouth down over hers. Marinette whimpered, pushing against his chest, struggling to escape the smothering kiss.

As quickly as the kiss began, it ended. Marinette shrieked as she was jerked away, pushed back as a flash of motion, a blur of color streaked past her, barreling into Paul's chest, bearing him down onto the table. The glass of seltzer water smashed onto the floor. Adrien slammed Paul down once more before drawing his fist back and smashing it against Paul's jaw.

"Adrien! No! Stop!" Marinette shrieked, grabbing Adrien's arm and tugging in an effort to drag him away from Paul.

Paul pushed her away, grunting as he rolled over, pinning Adrien against the Formica surface and taking a wide swing. Jerking to the side as Paul's fist slammed into the table, Adrien shoved him hard, sending the man careening backward before he managed to right his stance once more.

"Stop it!" Marinette screamed as she tried to ferret her way between the two. Adrien shot her a fulminating glower before shoving her aside once more.

Closing the distance, he ducked to avoid another punch before blocking the next with his wrist. Paul growled angrily, his temper rapidly unraveling as Adrien kept evading his attacks. Another swing that missed Adrien elicited a loud howl of outrage, and Paul opened his fist, drawing his hands back. Adrien saw it coming, carting around only to catch Paul's wrist, jerking the man forward as he snapped his arm out straight, catching Paul in the center of his chest with the heel of his hand as he let go of Paul's wrist. Paul flew back, smacking into a booth beside a window with an impact so tremendous that the very walls shook. Wiping the blood trickling from the corner of his lip, Adrien stomped over to tower over Paul's sprawled body. "Get up, you bastard," he spat quietly, flexing his fingers, his body trembling with the force of his rage.

Paul stared at him for a long moment, shifting his jaw from side to side as he grimaced.

"Stop it, Adrien!" Marinette exclaimed, pushing past him to kneel beside Paul. Casting Adrien a scathing glower, she shook her head and dashed a hand over her eyes. "What do you think you were doing?" she hissed, painfully aware of the eyes that were still watching the debacle.

"Who started it?" the bartender demanded, pushing his way through the crowd. The chimes over the threshold rang merrily seconds before the door slammed closed. The pub was quiet; the only discernable sounds were the shuffling of nervous feet, the clearing of throats as the gathering started to disburse, milling back toward their tables in an effort to avoid drawing notice.

"Bill me," Adrien bit out, sparing a moment to glare at Marinette before turning on his heel and stomping out of the pub. The students hurried to clear a path for him, and if he noticed, he gave no indication.

"Your father will hear about this," Paul growled, sitting up slowly and shifting his jaw from side to side.

Marinette knelt, dumbfounded, for a moment before her temper spiked once more. She was shaking, late fear choking her. Seeing Adrien standing toe to toe with the much larger and infinitely more ruthless man. . . she'd thought he was going to get hurt, hadn't she? Blinking quickly, telling herself that she absolutely was not—was not—going to cry, she pushed herself to her feet and headed for the exit, too.

He was stupid—stupid! That was the only thing she could come up with. Sure he'd held his own, and in the end, he'd come out the winner, but that was still a completely foolish thing to have done especially over something as ridiculous as a kiss . . .

The cool air of the early fall evening did little to soothe the tattered edges of her frayed nerves. Sparing a moment to take in the shadowed landscape, she tried to find Adrien by sight. If he was still nearby, he was hiding, and she had a feeling that he certainly wasn't doing that. Her nose was still too disoriented from the overwhelming scents in the pub, and with a frustrated growl, Marinette hitched her purse strap up on her shoulder and pulled her sweater closer around herself before she started walking.

_`Of all the stupid, pig-headed, idiotic displays . . . he could have been clobbered!'_ she fumed.

Shivering slightly as she called to mind the look of absolute rage on Adrien's face, she scanned the darkened campus once more . . .

_"Agreste . . . Gabriel's son? Ah, yes, I remember. You were the model who didn't have it in him to model . . ."_

She bit her lip, spotting the blonde hair glinting in the light of the lamps lighting the walkway ahead. `He . . . he really was a model once, wasn't he . . .?'

She grimaced and darted after him. "Adrien! Stop, will you? Stop!" she yelled.

He kept walking, hands jammed deep into his pockets, the anger in his aura still painfully distinct. Marinette sighed, wishing absently that she'd worn flat shoes instead of heels, and she quickened her pace to close the distance between them.

She grabbed his arm and tugged to stop him. He did, shoulders straightening, back stiffening. "What?" he growled.

Marinette scowled at him—completely ineffective since he refused to look at her. "Are you mad?" she demanded, digging her nails into his jacket to make him stop when he started moving once more. "Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea who that was?"

That stopped him abruptly, and he swung around to face her. Face hidden in the shadows cast by the dim lamps lining the path, all she could discern in the darkness was the indomitable glow—the steely glint—lighting his gaze. "I fucking must be," he bit out. "Four years, Marinette . . . the least you could have done was told me."

Fighting down the indignant blush that stained her cheeks crimson, Marinette shook her head stubbornly, letting go of Adrien's arm as she planted her hands on her hips and glowered back at him. "I don't have to tell you a thing, Adrien Agreste!"

"The hell you don't!" he snarled.

"The hell I do!" she shot back. "You don't own me! You have no right to be angry!"

"Oh, so I was supposed to let him manhandle you like that when it was so damn obvious that you didn't want anything to do with him?" he ground out, taking a step toward her, towering over her as she glared back defiantly. "Is that the kind of guy you want? Someone who doesn't give a rat's ass about you? Is it?"

"That's none of your business!" she retorted, unblinking as she stood her ground. "You can't go around beating up on people! Paul isn't a slouch, you know! He could have killed you, and then where would you have been?"

"As if!" he countered with a pronounced snort. "I would have knocked him back down if he'd bothered to get up again."

That claim ignited Marinette's temper, and she reached back before swinging her hand, palm cracking against Adrien's cheek so hard that the sound of the impact echoed through the air before it died away. "Leave me alone, Adrien! I don't want you! I never have! Just leave me alone, all right? I don't want your flowers; I don't want your songs—I don't want you!"

Eyes narrowing dangerously, he suddenly drew back as he blanked his expression completely. Even his eyes seemed to shut down. "I see. If that's how you want it."

"That's how I want it," she forced herself to say, ignoring the sudden tingle of tears that prickled her nostrils, and she rubbed her forearms through the thin summer sweater.

He stared at her for a long moment, gaze inscrutable. Marinette bit her cheek, refusing to back down.

Finally, he gave a curt nod, turning on his heel and walking away once more.

Marinette swallowed hard as she watched him go, telling herself that it was better this way; telling herself that it didn't really matter in the end. She had to do what was expected of her, whether she liked it or not, and Adrien . . .

Drawing a tremulous breath, Marinette shook her head, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes in a vain effort to stave back the tears that were gathering.

Adrien . . . he was better off without her, too.

If only it were as simple to convince her heart of that . . .


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm really surprised by how many people liked, reviewed, favorited and followed this story. It truly makes my day! This chapter will explain more why Marinette was told to date Paul and not Adrien. I can help clear up any confusion later if we need .**

**Anyways, enjoy and review!**

Three days.

Adrien dug his fist deep into his pocket, holding onto the knapsack slung haplessly over his shoulder with the other hand as he frowned at the path under his feet and trudged along the path that led from the graphic design building on campus. The rumble of thunder in the distance suited his mood just fine. He'd been in a funk since Tuesday night—since he'd walked away from Marinette.

So maybe he wasn't the smartest knife in the drawer . . . it had certainly taken him long enough to realize that Marinette really didn't want to be his mate. That didn't make the ache in his soul go away whenever he thought about her, and it didn't help him to sleep at night, either. No, the awful truth was that he missed her—missed the reluctant little half-smile she got on her face whenever he ran up to her with a flower in hand, missed the way the wind caught the wispy strands of her blackish blue hair and tossed it around . . . He missed her smile . . .

_`Come on, Adrien, this isn't good for you. You saw the kind of guy she wants—a bastard. If that's the kind of guy she really wants to have as her mate, then who are you to argue it with her?'_

He grimaced. As true as his inner voice's words were, he couldn't help the desolation that engulfed him every time he thought about Marinette with that cretin . . . any time he remembered the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach when that bastard kissed her . . .

Heaving a longsuffering sigh as the rain started to fall, —he'd forgotten to grab an umbrella before leaving his cottage—though he didn't increase his step.

He was simply going through the motions, wasn't he? Going through them because he didn't have a choice in it; not really. Marinette . . . she'd made her choice. Maybe he was a little denser than he had believed. He'd honestly thought . . .

' Don't matter what I thought, does it?'

_`Oh, come on, Adrien . . . she doesn't owe you a damn thing, even if you think she does.'_

`She . . . she could have told me . . . Hell, they probably spent all summer laughing at me . . . "

Trudging along the cobblestone path that led down the center of campus, he could have veered off to the left to walk under the relative shelter of the old oak trees. The thought didn't actually cross his mind. Too lost in his own feelings of recrimination, he kept moving without paying attention. He knew where he was going.

He needed the escape. Though he hadn't modeled in years, people would still recognize him on the streets. He wore what he called his "Chat Noir" suit to help blend in. They would know it was him if they were right next to him, but not from afar. But it didn't help his ears...

Grimacing as rain dripped into his ears despite their flattened state, he made a face but kept moving, his only concession the sharp flick of the offending appendage. `Maybe,' he thought, squinting up at the cold, gray sky, `it's just not my week . . .'

_`Whether you like it or not, you probably should apologize for beating the snot out of her fiancé,'_ his conscience pointed out.

Adrien snorted, scowl darkening as he dug his fist deeper into his pocket and hitched the knapsack over his shoulder once more. `When pigs fly out of my ass,' he shot back.

_`Oh come on . . . you're the bigger man—at least figuratively . . .'_

`Shut up, damn it.'

A slight rustle of movement, an abrupt stop of the rain drumming down on him, and Adrien blinked, momentarily disoriented. The rain continued to fall, but it had stopped coming down on him. All at once, the familiar scent filled his nostrils, and he quickly glanced at her.

Marinette was holding a yellow umbrella over their heads, her gaze carefully lowered to the path beneath their feet. Cheeks tinged with the barest hint of pink, she gnawed on her bottom lip and quietly cleared her throat. "Don't get any weird ideas," she told him, the color rising in her face. "I didn't feel sorry for you. I felt sorry for your ears."

"For my ears," he echoed with a curt nod, wincing as the need to shake off the water grew stronger and stronger. "Of course."

"Haven't seen you for a few days," she went on, casually. "I thought maybe you went back to Japan."

"Don't have any classes in this area," he replied, his tone clipped, brusque. "No reason to take this route, is there? Anyway, I figured you'd be relieved."

He didn't miss the grimace that contorted her features for the briefest of moments before she shook her head quickly and shrugged. "Why would I be relieved?" she demanded. He didn't have to look to know that she was staring at him. He could feel her gaze drilling into his head. The challenge in her tone defied him, challenged him, and he shook his head in silent confusion. What did she want from him? She'd wanted him to give up, didn't she? She wanted him to stay away, and yet . . . and yet the look in her eyes; the confusion and the unvoiced misery . . . he understood those emotions well enough. He'd been struggling with them, himself, hadn't he? Still, he just couldn't credit them, couldn't allow himself to be dragged right back in. As much as he'd desperately love to believe . . . He sighed, forcing his gaze away, wincing as more water trickled into his ear canal, and he flicked his ears before more residual water could drip down in them.

Marinette squealed, jerking back, effectively leaving him in the rain once more. Face scrunching up in a decided grimace, he couldn't help the little whimper that escaped when the torrential rain hit him once more, filtering into his unprepared ears. She shook her head but hurried back to stick the umbrella over his head once more. "That was cold!" she complained, wiping her cheek with nimble fingertips.

Adrien couldn't help it; he really, really couldn't. Cocking his head to the side, he dropped his knapsack and shook himself hard, sending a fine sheen of moisture everywhere—most notably, off of himself.

Marinette shrieked but didn't step away, holding up her hand to provide a pathetic shield against the shedding rain. "Adrien!" she protested. "Stop it!"

And then she threw her head back and laughed.

Adrien stopped and stared at her. It was the first time he'd actually heard her laughter. Sure, she'd giggled at him a few times, and yes, he relished the instances when he'd managed to humor her, but this . . . Her laughter was a balm on his soul, softening the sharpest edges of his resolve as he watched her in mute fascination. Eyes closed as gales of laughter welled up inside her only to spill over in a cascade of soothing sound, he felt the earth stop moving for one beautiful, wild moment. It was like falling in love all over again. A savage sense of unadulterated pride swept through him, and he couldn't help but smile, too as he bent down to retrieve his knapsack.

"You're horrible!" she insisted, digging in her satchel for a clean linen handkerchief.

He was enchanted by her smile. He couldn't help it. He loved the way her eyes took on a warm glow, the slight flush in her cheeks . . . Maybe she didn't want him to give up on her, no matter what she'd said . . .

She blotted her skin dry and shot him what should have been a chastising look, but the effect was completely ruined by the smile she was trying to hide. "You dog!" she complained in a tone that lacked any real censure.

"Well . . ." he drawled, smiling at her despite his reluctant thoughts.

"Sorry, Kitty," she grumbled as her smile widened just a little.

"Listen," he went on, lifting a hand in a gesture proclaiming his innocence. "You're lucky. You don't get water and stuff in your ears. I do. Can't be helped, and when water gets in there. I have to shake it out or . . . or I'd get an ear infection. And die." He paused for effect before plunging on. "Then you'd feel bad, right? Because I'd die from the ear infection I got because you didn't want me to shake . . ."

Marinette rolled her eyes as Adrien started walking once more. "Really."

He nodded. "Then you'd feel so guilty that your thoughtless demands resulted in my untimely death that you'd end up killing yourself, too . . . The world would sink into darkness, and it'd all be because you didn't let me shake my head. Now don't you feel bad, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

She giggled, her fingers fluttering over her lips in a nervous sort of way. "Oh, absolutely, Mr. Agreste; so bad, in fact, that I might just have to take my leave of you here and now."

He caught her wrist and pulled her back with a soft chuckle but let his hand drop away when she made no move to veer away from him again. He sighed. "Is that witless fool really your fiancé?" he forced himself to ask.

Marinette's laughter died away, and she sighed, too. ". . . No . . ."

"You say that like it's just a matter of technicalities."

She frowned but peered up at him through the thick fringe of her eyelashes, her eyes unnaturally bright, as though she were willing him to understand. "It's best," she said slowly, quietly, deliberately. "It's the best thing for everyone."

"For you?" he countered. "Is it?"

Marinette bit her lip, shook her head as the two of them headed away from the campus, down one of the side streets just outside university grounds. "I live here," she said, stopping just outside a four story building. Neat, clean, it looked warm and inviting, and Adrien nodded. "Just . . . return the umbrella after it stops raining."

"Marinette!" he called as she started to dash up the steps to dart inside.

She stopped and turned around as the rain poured down on her. "Yes?"

Casting a quick glance around, Adrien spotted a window box full of miniature white roses two stories up. He ran up the steps, handed her the umbrella before vaulting over the stone banister and shimmying up the trellis affixed to the side of the building. It only took him a moment to cut off one of the flowers—a bud that was ready to bloom—and he dropped back to the ground once more, pushing himself off the earth and over the railing once more, lighting on the step below Marinette as he extended the blossom and stood up. "Here," he said as she hesitantly reached for the stem. "Sorry I've missed the last few days."

She shook her head, blue eyes alight with a suspicious moisture. It was hard for her; maybe harder than Adrien could credit. "Adrien . . ."

Adrien grimaced, knowing deep down that he just didn't want to hear what she was about to say. Pressing his index finger against her lips, he shook his head and stepped back. "Don't break my heart, Marinette . . . not today . . ."

"Don't break your heart?"

"I'd cherish you if you'd let me," he whispered.

She shivered, closing her eyes for a second before opening her mouth to protest, her lips trembling under his fingertip. "I . . ."

He leaned down quickly, brushed his lips over her rain-dampened cheek. She leaned toward him, a soft sigh slipping from her as he slowly pulled away. He wasn't sure if she realized it or not, but either way, he'd take whatever concessions Marinette was willing to make.

She frowned but swallowed hard as he retreated down the steps, his finger lingering against her lips until he couldn't reach her any longer. He'd seen it in her eyes, hadn't he? Standing there in the pouring rain with her heart on her sleeve, even if it was only for the moment . . . She'd missed him, even if she didn't want to admit as much. She'd missed him, and maybe—just maybe . . . "I'll never give up, Marinette," he promised as the rain fell down on him again. "See you tomorrow."

He left her there, standing on the steps of her apartment building with a bemused little smile on her lips and a single white rosebud in her hand. Turning slowly, he strode away, and in his mind, the sun was shining. `Just a matter of time,' he told himself with a grin as the glimmer of hope inside him sputtered to life and grew brighter. `It's all just a matter of time . . .'

Marinette pressed her hand to her chest and leaned back against the door. Hair wrapped in a thick pink towel with her fluffy white terrycloth robe tightly belted around her narrow waist, she wasn't certain just how long she'd stood in the shower letting the hot water flow over her in a vain effort to settle her unraveled nerves.

Just how had he done that?

She sighed as a little smile quirked her lips.

_`Who cares how he did it as long as he does it again . . .?'_

Lifting her fingers to her lips, she gingerly touched them, a heady shiver running down her spine, and she drew in a stuttering breath. `He's sin . . . pure sin . . .'

Green eyes danced before her in the superimposed darkness. Laughing . . . always laughing . . . smiling at her in the recesses of her mind . . .

The gold color seemed to fade, replaced by stony gray—sleety color that brought to mind the iron cold of the summer storm clouds that was still blanketing the sky outside. Those were the eyes she knew better; the ones that she was loathed to displease. Adrien's father . . . Gabriel Agreste. . .

He was the one who came to her Father and made him order Paul to date Marinette. Threatening to ruin their business, her poor father didn't have a choice. And now they all suffered.

Eyes opening as she pushed herself away from the door, grabbing the first dress she laid hands on out of her closet, Marinette heaved a sigh and dropped the garment on the bed before flopping down beside it. `_Gabriel would never accept me, would he? He'd never allow me to be with Adrien . . .'_

Her gaze lit on the framed photograph standing on her dresser: Aislynn. Eyes bright without a trace of a smile, she stared at Marinette from across the room, her gaze burning into Marinette's with the strength of conviction behind it. `Don't leave me,' she seemed to be saying. `Mummy and Dad . . . they're too busy for me . . . just as they were always too busy for you . . . You're all I have . . . don't leave me . . .'

Marinette slowly got to her feet, shuffled over to stand before the dresser, kissing her fingertips and brushing them against the cool matte glass. "Aislynn . . ." she whispered. "I won't leave you . . ."

Turning away with a heavy sigh, Marinette got dressed in silence. Her heart felt heavier now, and she grimaced, asking herself just why she'd initiated the conversation with Adrien earlier in the day.

_`You know why.'_

She sighed as she pulled the towel off her head and started squeezing water out of her long locks. `I suppose I do.'

The image of him, wandering along the path with his shoulders slumped and his head down, as the rain beat down on him unmercifully . . . She winced, ignoring the fact that she'd also been knee-deep in self-loathing for having been so mean to him after the altercation with Paul. She should have thanked him, shouldn't she? He'd protected her, even if she hadn't really needed it. Paul had been jealous—no, not jealous. For him to have been jealous, he had to care about her, and he didn't. No, he cared about garnering favor from Gabriel Agreste, and that was all . . . She . . . well, she was just a pawn in that mess. Paul was being territorial. It was a different thing entirely.

To be honest, the idea of spending her life with Paul Gregory was something she just didn't want to think about. She'd end up as unhappy, and that was something that was completely unacceptable, wasn't it?

Hanging the towel over the back of the straight wooden chair at her desk, Marinette grabbed her brush off the table and headed for the door, determined to brush aside the worrisome thoughts before they ruined her mood completely. Would it be so bad to allow herself a few blessed hours to savor something so wonderful—so magical—even if it never could be . . .?

The sheer white curtains billowed in the strong breeze siphoning through the crack in the window. Alya hadn't closed them before she'd taken off for the evening. Shivering slightly as the night chill curled around her bare ankles and up her legs, she rubbed her arms briskly and hurried over to close it but stopped with her hands poised on the sill, eyes narrowing as she gazed down at the shadowy figure with the bright blonde hair standing outside on the sidewalk in the pouring rain.

He saw her and lifted his hand to wave before grasping the ukulele she knew only too well and strumming the first discordant notes. "`Wise men say . . . only fools rush in . . . but I . . . can't . . . help . . . falling in lo-o-ove wi-ith yo-o-ou . . .'"

Pushing the window open further, she stuck her head outside and hissed, "Adrien! What are you doing?"

He stopped playing long enough to grin up at her, ears flattened pitifully against the downpour. He was wearing what he called his "Chat Noir" suit, complete black outfit with cat ears and a tail. She found it utterly adorable. "Marinette! Fancy meeting you here!"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You're going to get struck by lightning, you fool!" she insisted. "Go home!"

"I have a proposition for you! I'll leave after you hear me out!"

`Of all the stubborn, foolhardy, asinine . . .' Another crack of thunder followed moments later by an intense bolt of lightning made her cringe. "Ask it, then!" she hollered.

"Invite me up, and I will," he replied pleasantly enough.

"I—no!" she maintained.

"All right," he agreed pleasantly enough as he propped his foot on the bottom step that led up to the front porch and idly strummed the ukulele that sorely needed to be tuned. Marinette cringed as he resumed the song. "`Shall I stay . . . Would it be a sin . . . If I can't help falling in love with you . . .'"

"Sweet Jesus, Dupain-Cheng . . . make him stop!" someone grouched from the apartment above.

"I'll invite him in if that's all it'd take," someone else lower down complained.

"Ugh! I heard that he was bad, but I didn't know he was that bad!" another voice chimed in.

Marinette dug her fingers into the window frame and grimaced. Another streak of lightning shot down, striking the earth just behind the trees off to the left, and Marinette couldn't help the little shriek that escaped her. It was close—too close—and the insane man just kept playing and singing as though he hadn't noticed the lightning at all . . . "Adrien!" She grimaced. "All right!" she called down. "Come up . . ."

That got his attention right quickly. Stuffing the instrument into the duffle bag on the ground beside him, he slung the cumbersome bag over his shoulder and hopped over the banister to grab the trellis in much the same fashion as he had when he'd climbed up to steal the rose from her next-door neighbors earlier. Marinette shook her head and shoved the window open. His hands slapped over the edge of the sill, and she reached out, cringing as another bolt of lightning struck, grasping the band of his suit and jerking him into the apartment. "Haven't you ever . . . heard of doors?" she complained as she gritted her teeth and yanked.

"Ow, Marinette . . .!" he exclaimed, the palms of his hands smacking against the hardwood floor. "Ow, ow . . . wedgie . . . ow . . ."

"You know, you and your singing were the reasons why Alya and I couldn't rent the same flat this year," she pointed out.

"This one's nicer," he grunted as she jerked on his jeans again.

With one more mighty tug, she dragged him through the window and let go as he sprawled on the floor with an unrepentant grin followed closely by a grimace as he reached back to rub his rear end. "You were a school bully, weren't you?" he complained as he rolled to his feet and straightened up.

Another flash of lightning split the sky outside the window, and Marinette shook her head. "You'll be the death of me," she predicted with a sigh.

The blasted man had the audacity to chuckle. "Worried about me? That's sweet but entirely unnecessary."

"Hardly!" she shot back. "Just because you're too stubborn to realize that you could have easily been hit by lightning and—Don't you dare!" she warned as he cocked his head to the side, one ear straight up in the ear while the other was jutting out to the side, his face screwed up in a scowl of intense concentration.

He shot her a guilty glance and uttered a sound akin to a soft whine. "Have a heart, Marinette!" he grumbled. "I've got water in my ears!"

"Let me get you a towel," she insisted, jabbing her index finger into his chest none too gently, "and don't even think about shaking."

She backed out of the room as Adrien stood motionless with his head tilted and a grimace on his face before careening around to gather some towels, praying that he wouldn't give in to the urge to shake off the excess water.

Grabbing a handful of fluffy pink towels off the shelf in the bathroom, she darted back toward the living room, skidding to a stop and lifting her arms in time to stave off the barrage of water droplets that spun through the air as the irritating man shook himself. "Adrien!" she protested.

He stopped mid-shake, and shot her a guilty glance as if he thought that she wouldn't notice that the apartment was drenched with water. The contrition that filled his gaze brought her smile to her lips despite herself, and she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled from her lips as she planted her hands on her hips and helplessly shook her head. "Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks pinking as the contrite expression dissolved beneath the guise of a cheesy grin.

"I'll believe it when you mean it," she countered with a crooked eyebrow.

He shrugged and held his hand out for a towel.

Rolling her eyes, she snatched one off the floor and tossed it to him before retrieving the rest of the hapless pile. The puddle around Adrien's feet darkened and spread, pooling outward in a viscous bubble as Marinette dropped a towel on the floor to staunch the flow. Holding the ends of another towel wide, she motioned for him to tilt his head toward her. He looked surprised for a moment but did as he was told. Inclining his head so that she could reach his ears, he stood still while she carefully toweled his hair dry, massaging his ears in a completely gentle way.

"That's nice," he murmured, eyes drifting closed as she continued her ministrations.

Marinette deliberately slowed her hands as she almost smiled—almost. The feelings churning in her stomach weren't exactly unpleasant as much as they were entirely unsettling, as if her very being were tumbling over on itself time and again. She'd felt stirrings of this kind about him before, of course, and she wasn't completely ignorant as to what, exactly, they meant, but she couldn't help the stirring of something far headier that churned around her in a dizzying sort of way. Precluding her powers of rational thought, she could only stare at him, couldn't help herself as she let her hands drop away only to reach up once more to brush his bangs out of his eyes as a roughened sound not unlike a purr though much harsher—much deeper—issued from him. It was a foreign sound the likes of which she hadn't heard before, and she gasped softly as he leaned into her touch, his hand wrapping around her wrist, holding her in place with a gentle albeit firm grasp.

"A-Adrien?" she whispered.

Adrien's eyes opened slowly with a lethargy that seeped into her through his hand holding onto her wrist. She stood, spellbound, as he gazed at her through heavily-lidded eyes, his expression serious, primitive, deep . . . He uttered a low growl—a soothing sound, and she answered with one of her own.

"My bargain . . ." he murmured suddenly, reminding himself that he was there for a reason.

"Question . . ." she echoed.

He swallowed hard—she could see the motion of his Adam's apple—and he licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. Marinette shivered. "Go out with me," he said quietly. "One time . . . just once, and I swear I'll leave you alone if I don't convince you that we're meant to be."

Marinette shook her head and frowned. "I can't. I—"

"One time, Marinette. One date. What do you have to lose?"

`What do I have . . . to lose . . .?' she thought wildly. She started to open her mouth to refute him.

He shook his head stubbornly. "One date, and if you can look at me at the end and say that you didn't enjoy yourself—that you don't want to be with me . . . I'll leave you alone," he paused here, grimacing slightly, as though the rest of his words were costing him, "forever."

"Forever," she repeated absently.

He jerked his head once: yes. "Forever," he stated again.

Marinette forced her gaze away, wishing for the briefest of moments that she really could afford to give in; wishing for things that couldn't ever be. He let her pull her hand away and she turned her back on him, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she heaved a sigh. "I . . . I'm sorry . . ."

"Marinette," he said, closing the distance between them, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her around to face him once more. "Don't be sorry . . . just say yes."

`No,' she mumbled, unsure if she said the word out loud. Staring into the depths of his gaze, she couldn't look away, and she couldn't run. He begged her, pleaded with her with the slight narrowing of his eyes, with the heightened green that brightened; burned.

`Please, Marinette . . . please,' he spoke to her heart. `Just for once . . . listen to your heart . . .'

`Just for . . . once . . . one insular memory . . . One dream . . . one night . . . I . . . I could have that . . .'

Marinette closed her mouth and blinked quickly, trying to stave back the haze of tears that blurred her vision. `A bargain . . .' she mused absently . . . `I'd bargain the rest of my life for one night of something beautiful—a memory to last me a lifetime . . .' Closing her eyes for a moment, she swallowed back the growing lump that choked her; fought back the desolation as the flames of hope burgeoned. One night with Adrien in exchange for a lifetime with Paul . . . she could do that. She wanted to do it.

". . . Okay," she said softly. "But only one date . . ."


	5. Chapter 5

**And we're back! Mostly a fluff chapter before more drama starts. **

"Don't scream."

Marinette's eyes flashed open, and she blinked in the darkness, her breathing harsh against the hand covering her mouth.

Adrien slowly lifted his hand. "Sorry about that."

"A-Adrien?" she stammered, her brain functioning pitifully slowly. She glanced at the clock and frowned. "It's four-thirty in the morning . . ."

"Yeah, I know," he replied with an apologetic little shrug. "But I'm only getting one chance, right? So I aim to take advantage of it."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding," Marinette grumbled, pulling the blankets over her head.

He pulled them away. "Come on, Marinette, or we'll miss it . . ."

Grudgingly opening one eye, she regarded the man carefully. He didn't look like he'd lost his mind in the few hours since his unceremonious departure out the window. That didn't really mean he hadn't lost his mind, though . . . "Miss what?" she asked.

"Trust me, okay? You'll love it . . . Hurry up! I've got the entire day planned out!"

"You're mad . . ."

He chuckled, catching her hands and pulling her into a sitting position. "I'm not mad; I swear. Now come on."

She shook her head and rubbed her face. "I still need a shower and some coffee . . ."

"You look fine," he assured her.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm wearing my nightgown," she protested. "Forget it, Agreste. I'm not going anywhere until I've had my shower."

He heaved a longsuffering sigh and nodded. "All right. You go get your shower, and I'll make coffee for you."

"Really?" she asked with a little grudging little smile.

"Really," he quipped. "Now hurry up . . . I didn't want to drive, but I can if we're running late . . ."

Seeing no way out of it, Marinette kicked the blankets back and stood up, grabbing her terry bathrobe of the end of her bed before shuffling out of the room once more.

`_Maybe I'm mad_,' she mused as she stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the light.

She'd been up much too late the night before, unable to settle down when all she wanted to do was to get through the night and the time before the date with Adrien began. She was looking forward to it far more than she ought to, but she just couldn't help herself, either.

Stripping off her nightgown and the delicate white silk panties she favored, she stepped under the flowing tap of the shower and sighed as the barest hint of a smile surfaced.

He was as excited as she was, wasn't he?

_`Of course he is, silly! He's been trying to convince you to go out with him forever, hasn't he?'_

Marinette's smile widened as she carefully lathered her hair. `Maybe . . . I wonder what he's got planned . . .'

_`Just promise that you really will let yourself have a good time today,_' her head chided.

`Let myself?' she echoed as she squeezed body wash onto a pale yellow scrubby. `Hmm . . .'

_`Yes, let yourself . . . He could . . . he could really make you happy . . .'_

Deliberately closing her mind against anything that might intrude on her temerarious sense of happiness, she finished her shower as a sense of excitement welled inside her.

`It's going to be great, isn't it?' she mused as she stepped out from under the taps and dried herself off.

Tugging the belt of her robe closed after toweling her hair dry, Marinette padded out to the kitchen only to find Adrien digging two mugs out of the cupboard. He spared her a moment to smile broadly before pouring coffee into the cups. "You about ready?"

She giggled, taking the mug he held out to her. "What should I wear?" she asked, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, leaning against the counter as he pondered her question. "Let's see . . . You might want a swimsuit . . . maybe something casual . . . something a little nicer for later . . . Sound good?"

She blinked, staring at him over the rim of the coffee mug. "Really . . ."

"Yep. Now hurry up or we'll miss it."

"Miss what?"

He wrinkled his nose, as he grabbed the other mug off the counter. "Get moving, Marinette. There're a lot of things I can do, but I cannot influence Mother Nature."

Raising her eyebrows at his cryptic answer, Marinette turned on her heel and shuffled out of the kitchen. Making a face as she stared at Alya's closed bedroom door, she bit her lip and tried to tell herself that her friend wouldn't be that irritated with her for waking her up . . .

Taking a sip of the coffee, Marinette choked and forced herself to swallow. `Ugh . . . that's horrible . . .' she choked. `Nasty, awful, bad!'

Pushing Alya's door open as she cleared her throat to rid her mouth of the vile taste of the sludge that Adrien called coffee, she flipped on the overhead light and walked over, using her knee to jostle the mattress where Alya lay sleeping.

"Hmm? Wha . . .?" Alya mumbled, rolling over and burying her face deeper in the pillows.

"Wake up," Marinette said. "I need your help."

Uttering a frustrated groan, Alya sat up, grabbing her watch off the nightstand and rubbing her eyes as she blinked at the device. "Marinette? It's not even five in the morning," she pointed out with a shake of her head.

"I know . . . Adrien's here already, and I need your advice."

Alya flopped back on her pillows and yawned. "Advice . . .? Is he mad? No one goes on a date at five in the morning," she pointed out.

"Well, he does, and he says I need a swimsuit, so which one should I wear? The pink one or the yellow one?"

Alya pushed herself up on her elbows, waving her hand in the direction of Marinette's coffee cup. "Pink or yellow . . ." she mused with a thoughtful scowl then shook her head. "White."

"White?" Marinette echoed, cheeks pinking as she thought about the swimsuit in question. "The bikini?"

"Yes," Alya stated. "The bikini."

Biting her lip, Marinette couldn't stave back the little blush that rose to stain her cheeks. "The bikini," she repeated.

Alya reached over, snagging the coffee out of Marinette's slack hand. "That'd be the one. That is definitely a Adrien-Agreste-date-bikini."

She broke into a timid little smile. "You . . . you think so . . .?"

Alya shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Yes."

Marinette opened her mouth to warn Alya about the God-awful coffee but grimaced when her friend took a huge swallow only to choke out a disgusted hacking noise and slam the mug down on her nightstand, her face contorting in obvious agony. "Oh, my God!" she croaked out. "What the hell is that?"

"Adrien made coffee. Wasn't that nice of him?" Marinette asked pleasantly, wisely holding back her own amusement over her friend's misfortune since she knew, herself, just how bad the coffee really was.

"Ugh . . . I think I'm going to die," Alya rasped out. "Nasty!"

Marinette rolled her eyes. "Focus, Alya! The white bikini? Really?"

Alya nodded then grimaced, affecting a full-body shiver as she tried to brush off the side-effects of the pungent brew. "Yes, really," she said. "Then again, maybe not. After that coffee? I'm not so sure anymore . . ."

Marinette giggled, pressing her hand against her stomach in an effort to calm her nerves. "The white bikini it is . . ." she decided, turning to leave Alya in peace.

"Have fun," Alya called after her, her voice muffled once more by her pillow.

"I will," Marinette called back.

Hurrying into her bedroom, she smiled to herself and closed the door quietly. No doubt about it; she had a feeling that she was going to enjoy the date more than she wanted to admit . . .

"Can I take off the blindfold yet?"

Adrien snorted. "Pff! No."

She wrinkled her nose but let her hands drop away from the white kerchief that Adrien had carefully tied around her head before helping her into his car. "But I want to see where we're going!" she protested.

"All in good time," he informed her. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

She uttered a soft little sound of complete exasperation at that. "Where?" she tried again.

Adrien shook his head. "Stop being so impatient. You've had a good time so far, haven't you?"

Marinette wrinkled her nose but couldn't help the little smile on her face.

All right, so she was having the time of her life thus far. After walking down to the beach to watch the sunrise over coffee—purchased coffee, thank God, not Adrien's horrid concoction—and huge, fluffy croissants that he'd buried in a cooler under a large log on the beach, they'd talked for a while about nothing in particular before diving swimming for a few hours. She'd never been to the beach so early in the morning, and she had to admit that it was a welcome thing. No one else was there, and it had been peaceful.

She'd buried Adrien up to his neck in the sand, and while he'd grumbled about getting sand in places where it ought not be, he'd let her, and all she'd been able to do in the end was smile and shake her head at his silliness. When she's stripped off the loose blue sundress to reveal the white string bikini, she'd waited almost breathlessly for Adrien to notice. He'd been busy shaking sand out of his hair, and when he'd stopped only to do a double take, she couldn't help the shyness that had overcome her. Sure, she knew that she had a decent figure, but she'd always been a little self-conscious of her breasts. She wasn't exactly voluptuous but judging from the look in Adrien's eyes, maybe that was all right, too. He'd certainly had enough trouble swallowing and forming coherent words, and Marinette had only been able to giggle at him. She'd have given the world to know just what was going through his mind in those moments. Then again, if the appreciative light in his emerald gaze had meant anything at all, maybe she already knew what he had been thinking . . .

"We're here," he announced as he pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine. "Just sit tight. I'll come around and help you out."

Marinette sat still, waiting impatiently as Adrien stepped around the car and opened the door, grasping her hands to pull her out of the vehicle. "Ready?"

Turning her head slowly, she frowned as she tried to discern noises. None of them made much sense to her, and in the distance, she could hear the sound of people screaming. `What on earth . . .?'

Strange smells filtered to her on the breeze; a mix of water and salt and heated cooking oil, and none of them made sense to her. She could feel the electricity of human auras, an excitement that she couldn't quite credit. The last time she'd felt anything this powerful had been when she'd gone to that concert Adrien had given her tickets to go to, and even then, this aura seemed different somehow . . . if only she could figure out why . . .

He pulled her along behind him. "Two, please," he said. Marinette turned her head toward the sound of change being dropped into a metal tray. "Thank you."

"Enjoy your visit," A friendly voice said.

"Careful," Adrien intoned, gently pushing Marinette against a metal bar.

`A turnstile,' she thought absently as she gingerly shoved through the pass.

Adrien stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Okay," he relented. "You can take that off now."

She pulled it off and blinked as she looked around. People were milling around; parents with small children . . . teenagers enjoying the final days of the summer holiday . . . He'd brought her to Playorium, the new amusement park that had been completed just a few years ago. She'd never been to a place like that, and it took a few minutes for her to accustom herself to the surroundings. "An amusement park?" she asked finally, turning a quirked eyebrow expression on him. "What am I? Five?"

Adrien grimaced and shrugged, hiding his discomfort behind a bright smile but not before Marinette saw it and flinched. "We can go somewhere else," he ventured, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets with a shrug.

"No . . . I mean . . . I was joking," she hurried to explain. "I . . . I've never been to something like this . . . is it like a carnival?"

"Sort of, just bigger," Adrien allowed then sighed. "Seriously . . . if you want to do something else, we can. I just thought . . ." he trailed off, shaking his head as a light blush rose to stain his skin. "You're right . . . it's kind of stupid."

"No, no!" she insisted quickly. "It's not stupid, at all! What do we do first?"

He broke into a nervous, slightly lopsided grin. "What do you want to do? There are all sorts of junk food, rides and—

"Junk food?"

"You're high-maintenance, aren't you?" he teased.

Marinette blushed but giggled as Adrien handed over two caramel apples.

It didn't take long for her to finish off both apples, and Adrien could only shake his head as he watched her dump the cores into the trash bin, brushing off her hands before turning to look at him once more.

"Here," he said, tearing open a small packet of wet-naps the woman at the apple stand had given him. Marinette grimaced but took the cloth and wiped her face and hands. "What next?"

He laughed. "Well, we could ride something . . . or we could find something else for you to eat, but keep in mind, I made reservations for lunch . . ."

"Reservations? Where?"

"You'll see . . . patience is just not one of your virtues, is it?"

She had the grace to blush at the remark, but her giggle ruined the show of contrition. "I suppose not."

"I love to hear you laugh," he mused, stopping short to pin her with a meaningful glance.

"You . . . do?"

He nodded. "Yes, I do."

A sudden sense of shyness crept over her, and Marinette quickly turned away before he saw too much in her eyes. "They have rides here?" she said, racking her brain for something—anything—that could take her mind off of Adrien and the unsettling feeling that the earth was spinning out of her control.

"Yep . . . not sure you should ride anything after eating all that crap, though," he remarked dubiously.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine!" she maintained.

"Yeah . . . you say that now, but you'll want me to hold your hair back while you hurl, too," he predicted.

She blushed but laughed. "I won't hurl . . . that's disgusting!"

"Hurling happens to the best of us."

"Really? Can't take it?"

"Apparently not," he replied, refusing to rise to the bait. "We could go on the Ferris wheel . . . it's not so bad."

Marinette turned to follow the direction of Adrien's outstretched hand, craning her neck back as she gazed up at the imposing structure. "That's . . . tall . . ."

"Afraid of heights?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Bring it on, Agreste."

He chuckled, catching her hands and pulling her off toward the line for the Ferris wheel. There weren't many people waiting, and the ride was letting people off. Adrien chuckled as he held the gate open for Marinette and gestured for her to go before him.

Slipping onto the bench, she scooted over as Adrien climbed in beside her and pulled the bar down until it locked into place. "You're having fun, right?" he asked, eyes sparkling in the morning sunshine.

"I am," she admitted as a hint of pink filtered into her cheeks.

"You say that like you're surprised," he ventured.

She shook her head, startled for a moment when the carriage they were in ground forward. Grabbing onto Adrien's shirt, she leaned closer to him until she realized that they were only being moved a few feet forward so that the attendant could load the next few benches. "S-sorry," she murmured, cheeks pinking as she swallowed hard and bit her lip.

"Don't be," he told her with an almost bashful sort of smile. "I don't think I minded that . . ."

She laughed softly, leaning over to peer down at the ground. "Funny how different things look when you're further off the ground."

He nodded. "I've thought that, myself, a time or two."

Sitting back, she leaned back to look at him, shaking her head as a thoughtful frown surfaced on her face.

"What?" he pressed when she didn't volunteer anything.

"You don't . . . strike me as a model."

He grimaced and shrugged. "Yeah . . . I'm not. Never was."

"But you did it."

"Well, yeah . . . my father . . . always wanted me to be one, too—at least that's what I thought."

"He didn't?"

"No . . . I mean, if I'd wanted to do it, then he would have been happy. Thing was, I never wanted to. When the old man figured it out, he was . . . furious. Told me not to try to be something I wasn't, even if I thought it would make him happy." He heaved a sigh and looked a little abashed as the carriage moved again. "I think that's the only time he's ever really been ticked off at me. Guess he learned early on that it wasn't good to pretend to be something you weren't."

"And that's what it was? Your modeling? Something you weren't?"

"Sounds about right." He smiled suddenly, slipping his arms around Marinette as she leaned forward once more, giggling at the tiny people on the ground so far below. "Careful," he cautioned.

Marinette spared a moment to smile at him before leaning even further against the bar holding them in the seat. "You won't let me fall," she quipped.

Adrien's smile faltered before returning with a brightness that she didn't see, and he cleared his throat before replying. "You're right, Marinette . . . I'd never, ever let you fall . . ."


	6. Chapter 6

**And we're back! Can't believe it's already the end of the month. Time has been flying by. I'm excited to see the new episodes that are coming out!**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

`_Her hands are so small,'_ Adrien mused as he led Marinette through the tree-lined path that meandered through the park. She was looking around with a smile on her face and a flash of brilliance in her gaze that pleased him.

She'd been smiling all day, truth to tell. All his work had really paid off, and he couldn't help but be quite relieved since he'd worried that one date wouldn't be nearly enough to convince her that they were meant for one another.

He'd spent all night running around and setting things up. He'd gotten to the amusement park just before it closed; bought a ticket just so he could go inside and rent a locker where he stashed the clothes he'd need for the second half of their date. She'd giggled at him when he'd retrieved his clothes and headed off to change while she did the same—he had run back out to the car to grab her bag, and despite her protests, he'd whisked her away to the Edinburgh Skyplex where they were setting up a special exhibit of Gabriel Agreste's most famous works. She'd told him that she hadn't been able to get tickets to the ultra-exclusive event as he'd led her into the building.

After the tour, Adrien had taken the four of them to lunch at the Skyporium—a very trendy restaurant at the top of the Skyplex building, and Adrien had spent much of the meal simply watching as Marinette discussed art with a conviction that Adrien appreciated. Now they were killing some time until the jazz concert in the park and enjoying a simple afternoon of quiet before the big event. The city was hosting an end of summer festival in the park though most of the festivities were being held on the other side of the area, leaving Marinette and Adrien alone in relative peace as they strolled along the flagstone path.

"You're amazing," Marinette murmured, squeezing Adrien's hand gently.

Caught off guard by the softly uttered praise, Adrien shot her a quick glance and an uncertain little grin. "You think so?"

She giggled, hooking a strand of blue hair and slipping it behind her ear. "I think so," she said. "Are you sure you haven't had this date planned all along?"

He grimaced. "Actually . . . no."

"No?"

"Nope . . . didn't figure you'd actually accept my bargain," he admitted with a shrug.

She sighed. "I see . . ."

"I was hoping that your art and skecth books weren't just a fluke," he hurried on, unwilling to let her say anything that might ruin the companionable moment.

"My books?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah . . . you got one at the library the first time I met you, and I noticed last night that you have quite a few of them on your shelf . . ."

"Well, I am majoring in art theory and education, as well as design." she pointed out.

"There's that, too," he agreed.

She laughed. "I guess I never thought to ask . . . what are you studying?"

He shot her a cheesy smile. "I'm getting my teachers degree.."

She did a double take and barked out an incredulous laugh. "You're serious? You want to be a teacher ?"

"Yes. Yes, I do ."

She laughed suddenly, pulling her hand away and stopping as she lifted both her hands to cover her mouth.

"It's not that funny," he mused as he stopped to watch her.

Marinette nodded as she slipped her hand into his again, and the two started walking once more.

"Look sharp! He's gone and done it!" a guy Adrien recognized from a couple of his classes said to a friend he was with. "She actually gave a scruffy dude like you the time of day?" he called out.

Adrien grinned and nodded. "Absolutely . . . I told you it was just a matter of time."

"You're impossible," she said with a slow shake of her head.

Adrien shrugged. "Can I help it that everyone knows that I've been head over heels for you . . . forever?"

With a sigh, she shook her head though her smile didn't disappear. "Incorrigible."

"Completely." Spotting an ice cream cart near the central fountain in the park, Adrien quickened his pace, dragging Marinette along behind him. "Dessert!" he insisted.

She laughed but allowed him to lead her off, standing patiently while he bought vanilla cones for both of them.

"Here," he said, handing her a cone.

She took it with an endearing little smile. "So what's next?" she asked, the tip of her pink tongue darting out to catch the melting ice cream.

"Nothing for awhile," he admitted. "Figured you might like a little quiet time."

"Don't tell me the date's almost over," she teased.

Adrien snorted. "Psht! As if!"

She nodded. "Good," she murmured, her cheeks pinking prettily as she shot him an almost timid glance out of the corner of her eye.

"Having fun, are you?"

Her blush deepened, and she shrugged just a little before turning her complete attention on her ice cream cone. "This is good."

"Is it?"

She nodded. "Thank you . . . today's been . . . amazing."

He grimaced, unable to ignore the hint of sadness in her tone. "I told you: it's not over yet."

"You just don't do anything in short order, do you?"

Tossing the last of his cone into a nearby trashcan, Adrien made a face at his sticky fingers and glanced around for somewhere to wash off his hands. "Not when it comes to you," he assured her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded as he strode over to the fountain. He spared a moment to grin back at her before swishing his hands in the cool water pooling in the basin beneath the statue of a hundred fairies flitting about a hulking stone tree. "Getting into the fountain?" she teased.

Adrien pivoted on the balls of his feet and flicked water at Marinette. She hopped back with a little squeal, clutching her ice cream cone tightly. "Just wait, you," she vowed, popping the last of her cone into her mouth before carefully skirting around the fountain to use the other side to rinse off her fingers. Adrien scooted toward her. She shot him a sidelong glance and flicked her wrist, sending a small wave surging over his hands. He returned the favor, and she did, too. By the time they were done, their arms were drenched, and Adrien held up his hands in mock surrender. "You win," he told her with a chuckle.

She stood up, shaking her hands since they didn't have anything to dry off with. Adrien did the same, staring at her, watching the way the sun reflected off the water and pooled in the depths of her eyes. "You're beautiful, did you know . . .?" he said quietly, unable to look away from her.

"A-am I?"

He nodded, curling his fingers, lifting his knuckles to brush over her cheek. She seemed startled by the intimacy of his touch but didn't shy away. Her skin was downy soft despite the dampness still clinging to his fingers, and he couldn't help but smile at the way her lips parted only to close for a moment as she swallowed hard, nostrils quivering as her ragged breathing brushed over his wrist, condensing on his skin . . . "Beautiful," he whispered once more.

She caught his arm and held on. He could see it in her gaze: she wanted him to kiss her, and as much as he wanted to oblige her, he didn't want to scare her, either. Sighing softly as he forced himself to let his hand fall away from her, he cleared his throat and stepped back. "Come on . . . let's see what else we can find to do."

She sighed, too, but slipped her hand into his as they started walking once more. Adrien smiled. Being with Marinette was perfect, wasn't it? Everything he'd ever hoped for . . . everything he'd ever dreamed . . . she was right there with him, and with any luck, he'd be able to convince her in the end . . .

"You shouldn't do that," Marinette said, eyeing the water balloon in Adrien's outstretched hand rather nervously. Sitting on the wall of the short stone bridge that extended over the footpath below, they let their legs dangle off the side, watching the pedestrians pass beneath them as Adrien purposefully shook his hand. She leaned forward, steadied his arm, shaking her head despite the giggle that escaped her.

He'd purchased the balloons from some children who were having a water war near the swings. Marinette had eyed him dubiously, holding her hands up as she backed away from him.

"You wouldn't . . ." she said slowly, her expression stating that she wasn't certain whether she believed he would or not.

"Of course I wouldn't," he allowed then cocked an eyebrow as he hefted one balloon in the palm of his hand. "Then again . . . white dress and water . . .? You don't still have that bikini on, by any chance?"

She'd laughed and blushed, shaking her head. "I took that off," she assured him. "So you can't . . ."

He sighed, ears drooping in abject defeat. She clucked her tongue and stepped over to him, pushing his ears back into place with a soft giggle . . .

"Look . . . that guy looks hot, don't you think?" Adrien muttered, leaning toward Marinette as he tipped his hand to the side, almost dropping the balloon but not quite.

She reached out and snagged the balloon out of his hand. "Oh, no . . . you'll get us in trouble!"

Grabbing the last two balloons, Adrien eyed them for a moment before hefting them up in front of his chest. "So what do you think? B-cup, at least . . ."

She giggled, grabbing one of the balloons and giving it a little squeeze. "I don't know . . . I'd say a C-cup . . ."

"Marinette!" he gasped, jerking away from her grasp. "I'm shocked!"

Her giggles escalated into a full-blown laugh. "Well, you did ask."

"Yeah, I did," he agreed, tossing one balloon in the air. It bounced off his palm and bobbled precariously before slipping off the side of his hand and crashing down onto the empty path below. "Oops . . ."

Marinette squeaked and bit her lip as she craned her neck, staring down at the splatter of water where the balloon had impacted on the path. "You're lucky no one was walking through right then," she pointed out.

He grinned. "It was an accident!"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, it was."

"Hmm," he deliberated, taking the last of his balloons and holding it by the tied end, dangling it over the pathway. "Hope it doesn't slip . . ."

"You're the one who'll be in trouble if it does," she chided.

"I'll blame it on you," he shot back.

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

A tall young man and his date emerged from the tunnel and stopped in the middle of the pathway to indulge in a kiss. Adrien rolled his eyes and snorted. "Psht! Public displays of affection should be banned," he told Marinette as he let go of the balloon. The two moved away just in time to avoid being hit dead-on with the projectile. Marinette smashed her hand over her mouth to suppress her giggles as Adrien heaved a dejected sigh for having missed the intended targets.

"Adrien!" she gasped.

He snorted again. "They didn't even notice!" he fumed then shook his head slowly. "Aww, damn it . . . it's up to you, Marinette. You can hit `em, right? Make me proud?"

"No, way!" she argued, cradling the last remaining balloon in her hands. "You're a bad egg, Adrien Agreste. I'll bet you used to make little girls cry, too."

"Nah . . . well, maybe . . . . ."

"Beast."

He laughed outright at her teasing tone. Reaching over quickly, he knocked the bottom of her hands. The balloon bobbled and slipped out of her grasp. Adrien's eyes widened as the balloon exploded on a man's head. "Shit! You hit him!" Adrien exclaimed, swinging his feet around to the other side of the wall and hopping down as he reached over and plucked Marinette off the wall behind him. Digging into his pocket for a wad of cash, he tossed it over the ledge. "Sorry! Here . . . for dry cleaning!" he hollered as he grabbed Marinette's hand and ran, unable to control his laughter at the mingled expression of shock and amusement on the girl's face.

They ran for five minutes before Marinette pulled her hand away and stopped, leaning back against a gnarled old oak tree, doubled over as gales of laughter spilled out of her like an invisible waterfall. Adrien stopped, too, chuckling softly as he slowly turned around to face her. She was flushed, though whether it stemmed from embarrassment or because she laughing so hard, he wasn't certain.

Ambling toward her, hands stuffed into his pockets, he shook his head and smiled. "You're bad, Marinette," he pointed out.

"Me? You're the one who hit my hands!"

"Maybe . . . then you're clumsy; is that what you're trying to say?"

Her laughter died away but her smile didn't as she reached up to pull a leaf out of his hair. "You're evil . . . wicked . . . a horrible influence on me," she teased.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, he leaned on the tree, arms extended one either side of Marinette's head. She leaned back, her hands behind her as the amusement in her gaze dissipated only to be replaced by something far headier . . . far more intriguing. "You're shaking," he murmured, leaning in until his lips grazed her ear. "You can't possibly be cold . . ."

"C-cold . . .?"

He nodded, his hair falling over his shoulder, brushing against her cheek, against the bare curve of her throat: his silver strands enmeshed with her deep brown locks. The contrast was startling and somehow comforting, and Adrien closed his eyes, breathing in her scent, letting her aura overwhelm him.

_`God, I . . . I want to . . . kiss her . . .'_

With a heavy sigh, he drew in one last, deep breath and pushed himself away from the tree. It took several seconds for him to gather his scattering wits. "We'd better get moving," he said, his voice oddly husky in his own ears.

Marinette looked completely dazed, and she had to blink a few times to clear her vision. Her cheeks pinked again as she stood up straight, her gaze narrowing as she stared at him with an expression fairly close to consternation writ in the depths of her blue eyes.

Pretending not to see the unvoiced questions, he took her hand and pulled her along toward their next destination.

He'd be a nice guy—a gallant man—even if it killed him, he vowed.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he grimaced when he noticed the confusion contorting Marinette's brow as she stared down at the path they were walking on, and Adrien sighed.

_`Sometimes,'_ he thought sourly with an inward scowl, `_being a gentleman really, really sucks; damned if it doesn't . . .'_

Marinette stood back and waited patiently while Adrien narrowed his gaze, counting the trees carefully before grabbing her hand and striding toward the fourth one in the wide circle. "What are you doing?" she asked when he didn't volunteer any information.

"Wait here," he said, letting go of her hand and wandering over to the base of the tree as he tipped his head back to peer up through the network of branches. Spotting the bright blue ice chest he'd left up there in the night, he glanced around to make sure that they were hidden well enough and since people were starting to filter into the makeshift amphitheater portion of the park.

It didn't take long for him to retrieve the cooler and drop back down to the ground. Marinette smiled, shaking her head as he opened it and handed her the cream-colored rose that rested on top of everything in the cooler. With a wolfish grin, he shook out the blanket that lay over the rest of the contents in the chest. "Not a fancy table or anything," he remarked. "Hope you don't mind."

"This is where we're eating?" she questioned with an arched eyebrow.

He nodded as he knelt down to pull packages of plastic covered hunks out of the chest along with two crusty loaves of bread and a bottle of wine. "Sit down?" he offered, holding out a hand to her.

She regarded him for a long moment before sinking onto the blanket beside him. The hunks of plastic covered stuff were various cheeses, and he shot her a grin as he pulled a deep red apple from the chest and cut it into slices with his claws. "Light dinner, I guess," he remarked. "If you're still hungry after the concert, I'm sure I can find something open . . ."

"I like light meals," she replied, taking a slice of apple from his juice-drenched fingers. "You thought of everything, didn't you?"

Blushing slightly at the quiet wonder in her tone, Adrien took his time slicing off a hunk of baby Swiss cheese to offer her.

"Thank you."

"You know, wine . . . cheese . . . fruit . . . it's nothing to sneeze at, I suppose."

Marinette nodded and giggled as he fished two plastic wine cups out of the cooler, snapping the cup to the stem base with a flourish. She took one of the glasses and waited while he opened the bottle of wine and poured some for her. "Plastic wine glasses? I like these."

"You should," he rejoined. "It took me forever to find them . . . who'd have thought that plastic wine glasses were uncommon?"

She ate in silence as the early evening breeze ruffled her hair, and whenever Adrien caught her staring at him, she smiled. The pink color dusting her nose didn't abate, and as the first shadows fell and lengthened, he had to force back the sudden stab of melancholy that crept up his spine. The band started to assemble down on the stage, tuning their instruments as more people filtered into the clearing. Most were heading for the risers that lined the perimeter of the stage, but a few had brought blankets and were sitting further back, just as Adrien and Marinette were doing. They didn't draw any notice, though, half-enclosed by the trees behind them. All in all, it was the perfect spot: one that Adrien had painstakingly chosen the night before . . .

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, frowning slightly at the solemn look on her face as she thoroughly chewed a bite of apple.

"What's that?"

He shrugged. "Blame my cousin, Felix. He's from the States. Taught me some killer slang, though."

She laughed, but the sound of it was slightly hollow, and the humor in the gesture didn't reach her gaze. "You've been all over the world, haven't you? I . . . I've never been out of France . . ."

"Really?"

She shook her head. "No . . . sad, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't have said that."

"What would you have said?"

Dropping his empty wine cup into the cooler, he leaned back on his elbows and smiled absently as the first stars of the night twinkled high overhead. "Sounds like your father was protective . . . that's a good thing. If I had a daughter, I'd be that way, too."

Marinette sighed, tossing her wine cup over Adrien into the cooler and hooked her hands around her ankles. "It wasn't like that, you know? Papa . . . He sheltered me out of love. The arrangement with Paul should be evidence enough of that."

"Tell Paul to kiss your ass. You don't belong with him."

She sighed again, letting her chin fall onto her raised knees as the band launched into their first number. "This isn't really a date, mind," she said.

"Oh?" he contended, rolling onto his side and pinning her with a vaguely amused stare to let her know that he was quite aware that she was trying to change the topic.

"Quite so," she went on with a curt nod as she let go of her ankles and curled her feet to the side.

"What would you call it, then?"

Even in the falling darkness as the pale light from the lamp posts lining the aisles in the amphitheater below, he could discern the tell-tale blush that heated her cheeks as her eyes skittered to the side and she smiled a self-conscious little smile. "Well, I don't know, but one should kiss one's date, shouldn't he?"

"Oh . . . really . . ."

She nodded. "Absolutely, and you . . . you haven't tried; not once, so I can barely credit this as a date, wouldn't you agree?"

Adrien cleared his throat as the blood in his veins burned hot. All he really wanted to do was to reach for her, and yet he was almost afraid to do that, too. After so long, dreaming of her, of trying to get her to give him a chance . . . if he blew it now, he'd lose her forever, and in his heart, he knew it. Sitting up slowly, he stole a surreptitious glance at her. She was sitting with her hands clasped neatly in her lap, gnawing on her lower lip as though she were trying to make up her mind about something. "I've never had a kiss before," she admitted, her voice a throaty whisper. "Not a real one, anyway . . . Not one that counted . . . not from someone . . . someone I wanted to kiss . . ."

And he was done. Reaching out slowly, carefully, slipping his hand around her neck, he drew her forward, lowered his face as she turned to meet him. The softness of her lips gave to the gentle crush of his, and he felt the entirety of his world swell and shatter. The tender caress as her mouth lingered against his set off a yearning in his soul so deep, so necessary that he wondered if he'd crumble to dust if she turned him away.

The sweetness of the wine on her lips tempered the raging ache that burned inside him. Slowly, hesitantly, she slipped her hands up his chest, around his neck, fingers sinking deep in the strands of his hair. The timid nature behind her actions silently spoke to his desire to protect her, and he uttered a soft growl as the kiss broke away, falling between them like a feather, like the gentle waves of the ocean lapping against the shore . . .

She leaned against him, nudging her head under his chin, her fist curling around the cloth of his shirt. Her body tensed as he slipped his arms around her, as he pulled her close. The first of her tears struck his nose, drew a grimace from him as he stroked her back, as he broke into the soft rumble meant to offer her some modicum of solace.

"Marinette . . . I didn't . . . you're not supposed to cry," he whispered.

"It's not fair, is it?" she breathed, her voice full of unrepressed anger as she clenched her fist tighter, as she held onto him with a ferocity that he didn't fully understand. "Why did you do this?" she asked, leaning away, her eyes sparkling with the wash of unchecked tears. "Why do you have to be . . . everything?"

He sighed, holding onto her as she buried her face against his chest once more. "Marinette . . ."

"You don't understand, do you? No matter how much I've enjoyed myself today—no matter how much I wish . . ." trailing off with a sigh, she shook her head; closed her eyes. "It doesn't change a thing. I still have to tell you that I can't see you again, and you . . . you promised . . ."

Swallowing the bitter lump that threatened to block his throat, Adrien nodded. "I promised," he forced himself to say, unable to summon the conviction to be angry with her for it all. Maybe it was the understanding that she hated having to say it as much as he hated having to hear it. Maybe it was the bittersweet knowledge that she cared more than she had ever wanted to admit. Maybe it was the complete sense of hopelessness that was quickly flooding over him.

Maybe it was her tears.

"I . . . I should go," she said suddenly, choking back her tears as she pulled away from him and stumbled to her feet. "I'm sorry, Adrien . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

"Marinette, wait," he called, his voice louder than he'd intended as he caught her hand and held on. "Don't go."

"But—"

"You promised me a date. Well . . . the date's not over . . . not yet."

She stood there for agonizing moments, her conflicting desires waging their silent war in her head. Choking out a harsh little laugh, she sank to her knees beside him, smiling at him through the tears that coursed down her cheeks. He reached out to wipe them away as she cupped his face in her hands. "You'll be the death of me, Adrien Agreste," she stated.

He smiled at her cryptic words and nodded. "And you'll be the life of me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng . . . I promise."


End file.
